Operation: L O V E's Recovery
by dorothy's ruby slippers
Summary: Special Agent and assassin, Bella Swan, finds herself trapped in a web of international intrigue following a series of unfortunate events. This story is a continuation from the one-shot penned for the Les Femmes Noires Contest in November 2009.
1. Prologue

**Preface**

Somewhere in the back of my mind I always knew that my choices, the way I live my life, my work could lead me to this. Part of me delights in flirting with disaster, living on the edge, tangoing with death. These are easy choices to make when you believe that you have nothing to lose. For too long now, it has felt like there was nothing for me to lose. That was not true, of course, but I felt that way, nonetheless. The danger and the reckless choices have been the only things that make me feel alive: the only things that bring me closer to what I've lost. That is, until recently. Now, I realize I have everything to lose, and I am struck by how foolishly I have squandered my time: our time together. In the face of it, I am nearly consumed with regret and anticipatory grief. I suppose my overdeveloped ego made it impossible for me to see what was right in front of me. For one who has always claimed that regret was a waste of energy, there is so much I now wish that I would have done differently.

Flames dance all around me, and the smoke chokes me as I struggle to remain conscious, unable to move, but strangely grateful that I am pinned to the floor. At least, heat, flames and smoke rise. This knowledge calms me as I realize this may buy me a few more moments as long as the flames keep their distance.

I try to get a glimpse of him, and call out, hoping to look into the depths of those heartstoppingly gorgeous eyes. For once, I am willing to happily acquiesce to his protective instincts, his irrepressible desire to protect and rescue me. Suddenly, that doesn't seem like such an annoyance anymore. However, I look through the fog of smoke and am unable to find those eyes before I succumb to unconsciousness with his name on my lips.


	2. Chapter 1: The Girl from UNCLE

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence and language **

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all things Twilight. Me? I am owned by two supremely spoiled pugs. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying****, translation**** or ****other**** reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

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BPOV

Inspecting my reflection in the mirror, I find myself wondering how my life arrived at this particular point. As I reapply my lipstick, I hear Emmett in my ear, his trademark smirk coming though loud and clear in the tone of his voice.

"Bella, you look deadly: deadly gorgeous, that is. You're positively lethal. Heaven help anyone with a y-chromosome that crosses your path tonight."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Em. You really know how to charm the ladies, don't you? There's only one y-chromosome that matters tonight. Let's just hope that he's not immune to my charms."

"You've got this on lock, B. Don't give it another thought. You always come through for me and our good ol' Uncle: on that I can rely. Are you ready? Are you sure you want to go in naked, B?"

I chuckle at Emmett's favorite euphemism for our employer. By naked, Em means without cover or back-up. However, as I let my eyes travel along the length of my reflection; I realize that the beautiful, ivory, Grecian-style gown that Alice has picked for this op leaves very little to the imagination. Specially -tailored designer duds are definitely a perk of this job.

"Sure, sure, Emmett. We agreed that wearing the earpiece would be too risky. I'll put it back in once I've terminated the target, claimed the prize, and made like Elvis. Is everything in place for my pick-up?"

"You know it, B. The boys and I will pick you up four blocks south of your location. All you have to do is let us know when you're on your way."

"Okay, Em. See you in a few."

This is the first op in four years that I've pulled without Emmett's voice in my ear: coaching me, grounding me. I pull the compact from my purse, and remove the false bottom. As I remove the tiny earpiece and place it in the compartment Alice created for it, I can't help but remember the first time I met Emmett McCarty. Emmett McCarty and I seemed destined to be from the moment the big oaf walked into our lives. He was waiting for Jake and me after our Advanced Logic class at UW during my senior year. Apparently, he and Dr. Banner were long-time acquaintances, and Dr. Banner helped him identify and recruit promising students into the Company. Emmett was very crafty about his hard sell. Of course, there were promises of paying our school loans, financing our graduate school educations, serving our country, not to mention endless opportunities for travel and adventure far beyond the sleepy, rainy streets of Forks, Washington, where my father is the long arm of the law and Jake's father is a tribal elder. Naturally, Emmett failed to mention what the costs would be for a life of intrigue, travel, and adventure. As it turns out, those costs were unbearably high. In retrospect, higher than, perhaps, I would have been willing to pay had we only known. Hindsight is, indeed, twenty-twenty. Emmett didn't know either; I couldn't blame him, and don't. He couldn't have known.

I learned much later that my aptitude for creative problem-solving, and Jake's ease with learning complicated languages due primarily to his mastery of his native Quileute language made us highly desirable recruits. Much, much later, Emmett confided that recruiting Jake was a calculated strategy to ensure that I would commit to the Company. Both he and Dr. Banner knew that we would be a package deal. Of course, Jake was a desirable recruit in his own right, but for Emmett, he was also a means to secure my allegiance. For Emmett, this was always the optimal goal. Jake's tribal and familial ties to the Quileute tribe in La Push, not to mention his status as heir-apparent to ascend to Chief of the local tribe, made his recruitment a bit more complicated. Recruiting me, a confirmed loner whose closest connections included: a flighty, irresponsible mother who was murdered at the hands of a sociopath along with her second husband shortly after my seventeenth birthday; a salt-of-the-earth, sports-obsessed, police chief father who had always been a bit of a lone wolf himself; and, a fun-loving, reckless best friend, Jake, who not only had an incredible McGuyveresque aptitude for fixing things, but also had single-handedly brought me back to life after my mom's and stepdad's tragic deaths, and served as my light, my lifeline, and my love for as long as I could remember. Special Agent, Emmett McCarty, had done his homework well.

I inhale a ragged breath and bring myself back into the present. _Jake, be with me tonight. I need you_. I notice the familiar, deep hue of an intricately detailed cherry blossom tattoo peeking out from the fine fabric of the designer gown, and adjust the fabric to hide my ink. Each tiny blossom, eleven in total, make a tattooed trail from the soft hallows of my underarm and meander along the length of my form ending at the curve of my hip. The blossoms are connected by a delicate branch as the blossoms would appear in nature. In the Japanese tradition, cherry blossoms represent the transience of life. For me, each blossom represents a life that has ended at my hand. Not only am I a covert operative for the Company; I am also an assassin. Few know this. In fact, as far as I am aware, only Emmett and a small handful of his superiors are aware of the true nature of tonight's assignment. For that matter, Emmett is the only person on our team that is ever completely aware of the true nature of each of my assignments. I sigh as I realize that, after tonight, I will need to make an appointment with my tattoo artist to add a blossom to the trail. I suddenly realize, before long, I may need to start adding the inked blossoms along my left side. Some days it is a mystery to me how a shy, awkward girl from a quiet, rain-soaked town in the Pacific Northwest morphed into the woman staring back at me: a cold, calculating killer with ice water running through her veins. _Did that younger, more innocent version of me ever really exist, or was I always capable of such death and destruction? _

I adjust the bodice of the gown as I methodically run down my checklist. I smile grimly at my reflection as I adjust the slim titanium blade that Alice has sewn into a sheath in the bodice of my dress, in case of an emergency, as she routinely quips. Alice does think of everything. I exhale slowly taking in my reflection. I am cool, collected, and calculated: classic Agent Swan. I am a spook. Find the target, draw the target in, terminate the target, liberate the prize, and escape unnoticed. No problem. This is just another day at the office. What Emmett fails to realize is that this op is going down on what is possibly the very worst day of the year as far as I am concerned. Of course, Emmett wouldn't remember. Today is the day that I dread more than any other day on the calendar with the exception of the anniversary of the day that Renee and Phil were murdered. Today is the fourth anniversary of the day that my world lapsed into a permanent eclipse. Today is the anniversary of Jacob's death. I feel my breath hitch: _head in the game, Bella._

I shake my head to dispel the memories, and survey my reflection. I wonder if I should have acquiesced to Alice's insistence on a long, blonde, Veronica Lakeesque wig. I hate myself as a blonde, and this is such a simple mission. The likelihood that anyone would place me from tonight's gala is extremely low, so despite Alice's disapproving stare, I resisted a heavy disguise and opted for wearing my deep mahogany locks long, loose, swept up on the side, and held in place by the jeweled comb that Alice fitted with a tiny GPS tracking device. _Overprotective much, Alice?_ When organizing a hit, especially one that will require me to be up close and personal, I find it pays to keep things simple. As they say, dead men tell no tales. Beyond that, there is an element to all Alice's disguises that always seems so ridiculous, and there is something nagging inside of me that wants me to embrace tonight as completely and totally Bella. _For Jake_.

I twist the antique ring that Alice provided for the evening. Alice has such a quirky sense of humor. I find that I adore her more and more, the longer we work together, in spite of myself. Catherine de' Medici has nothing on Alice, and she has no qualms about using taxpayer dollars to procure a very authentic reproduction of Catherine's deadly ring for tonight's festivities. Alice truly has a flair for the dramatic. The symmetry and irony are not lost on me, and Alice knew they wouldn't be. Alice has been such a blessing in my life. She consoled me after Jake was killed, and she always, always, always has my back: on that _I_ can rely. She combines a wicked talent for pushing the envelope technologically with a personal and professional obsession with all things feminine. In the Company, Alice is an asset among assets. To me, she is more. Since Jake's death, Alice has proven herself to be not only an ally, but also a true friend. She and Em are the only two people I trust implicitly. Aside from Charlie, they are the only people I truly consider family.

I snap the jeweled clasp on what Alice blithely mentioned is a two thousand dollar, Maddelena Marconi jeweled, kiss-lock clutch. _Whatever that means, who pays two thousand dollars for a fucking purse? Silly, silly, Bella: Alice does, of course._ Alice's spendy nature aside, I must remember to thank her for the arsenal she managed to craft into the small, oval bag. Despite the jeweled, silver tone that just screams notice me, the delicate silver chain makes it very easy to tuck under my arm, and out of site. It's no mistake that it is the ideal complement to the gown, jewelry, and shoes. Alice has impeccable taste. _Perfect. Time to go to work, Swan. _I sling the ridiculously expensive evening bag turned arsenal over my right shoulder, tuck it neatly under my arm, and head out of the ladies room to join the party.

As I enter the massive ballroom, I scan the crowd. I immediately notice Aro Volturi holding forth among a group of white-haired gentlemen with his brother, Caius, at his side. Unfortunately, Marcus Volturi is not. This may, in fact, be to my advantage. _Divide et impera: divide and conquer. I suppose there's a reason those Romans ruled for 503 years, 7 months, and 19 days (give or take a few hours). Head in the game, Bella._

Marcus is tonight's target. He is one-third of the triumvirate that founded the juggernaut that is Volturi Enterprises Unlimited, a multi-national conglomerate that spans five continents, and has its hand in multiple industries across the globe. Of course, that is their bright and shiny public face. They are very protective of their pristine, unimpugnable, public image. Intel on VE Ultd. is extremely spotty at best. Ben, our communications czar, has been able to pick up very little chatter linking VE Ultd. to anything nefarious. The one thing Ben did intercept is that Marcus is mysteriously in possession of extremely sensitive and top secret information that would become a serious threat to national security if it fell into the wrong hands. Unfortunately, this information was liberated from the Company. Now, it is my job to _re-liberate_ said information, and perform damage control for our dear, ol' Uncle.

I make my way around the perimeter of the room, accepting a glass of wine from a fresh-faced waiter who can't seem to take his eyes off my cleavage long enough to look me in the eye when I thank him. As I lift the glass to my lips, I notice a very large, handsome man with closely cropped dark hair and deep brown eyes sizing me up as he talks to another man whose back is facing me. Aside from his olive complexion and his dark eyes, he reminds me a bit of Emmett. He definitely is tall and thick with a shock of closely cropped dark hair like Em. Unfortunately, he is taking way too much interest in me. _I wonder if he is with VE Ultd. Perhaps this getup wasn't the smartest choice. Alice and I are going to have to revisit the definition of the word: spook. The idea is to blend into the background, and go unnoticed. Thus far, I have blinded a waiter, and have the Incredible Hulk staring at me like I'm a juicy steak. Fabulous. Emmett will not be pleased if there is collateral damage this evening._

I slip between two groups of people and make my way to the opposite side of the room to escape the Incredible Hulk's scrutiny, and provide myself with a better vantage point for spotting Marcus in the crowd. As I scan the room, my eyes finally lock on Marcus. He is talking to a striking, raven-haired woman in a deep red gown that appears almost as if the fabric has been tinged with black. As I watch him from across the room, I feel an uncomfortable, prickly sensation running along the base of my neck as I notice another set of eyes have settled on me: Aro._ Aro. Damnit all to hell. Breathe, Bella. You are just another party guest. There's nothing to see here: except for, apparently, the girls. Aro's eyes seem to be trained on my rack. Delightful. Men are so predictable. If the Hulk was looking at me as if I was filet mignon, Aro is eyeing me as if I am a shiny new toy that he is dying to add to his collection. This is not good. _I stifle a shudder, and nervously run my index finger along my left wrist where my bracelet usually sits nearly dumping my wine on the floor. _Head in the game, Bella. The bracelet is at home, safe. You know you never wear it on assignment. Breathe and get a fucking grip. Get that ice water pumping through your veins, already._

As I shift my position to remove myself from Aro's line of sight, I notice Marcus kiss his companion's hand gallantly, and turn toward the exit. _It's time_. I set my wine glass down on a nearby tray, slip between two groups of partygoers, and prepare to make my exit. As I'm making my way across the ballroom, I suddenly feel a hand on the back of my shoulder. _Holy Hell!_ I nearly jump out of my skin, and turn startled to see Mr. Hulkerific standing over me holding two glasses of wine with a satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

"Good evening. I'm Felix. I couldn't help but notice that you appear to be unaccompanied this evening. I thought I'd introduce myself. Of course, I come bearing gifts." Felix winks, tips the glass slightly and offers it to me.

"Felix, it is lovely to meet you. You are very kind. Whoever said chivalry is dead?" I smile, take a measured breath, and continue, "Would you be terribly disappointed if I asked you for a raincheck? I was just making my way to the ladies room. I'll be sure to look for you when I return, okay?" _I so do not have time for this fuckery._

"Certainly, I will count the moments."

I flash my most charming smile and make my retreat_. Yeah. I hope you can count to infinity, bucko_. With that, I spin on my heels and make my way to the exit. Behind me, I hear Felix calling to me that I didn't tell him my name, and I chuckle to myself. _Keep counting, Hulkster._

I make it out to the hallway and head straight for the elevators. I enter and press the button for the 28th floor, and wait for the doors to close. As the elevator makes its way to the 28th floor, I run through our team's earlier preparations one last time. Our resident computer genius, Eric Yorkie, hacked into the hotel computer system earlier in the day, and identified Marcus' room number for me. Angela, our queen of all things logistical, provided me with a duplicate key to Marcus' room. Alice, mistress of disguise and gadgetry, laced my ring with a lethal powder, and lined my evening bag with a cocktail of syringes containing untraceable, paralyzing, and lethal poisons worthy of Queen Catherine. Mike Newton, our resident All-American, former military, yankee doodle dandee, and sharpshooter extraordinaire, planned my exit. James, our surveillance expert, had been keeping an eye on the Volturi brothers for weeks, and knew their every move. Make no mistake: Emmett's team is a well-oiled machine. Now, it's up to me to carry the ball into the end zone._ All that time living with my sports-obsessed father has definitely left its mark on me. Head in the game, Bella._

The bell sounds and the door opens and I quietly make my way to room 2828. I slip my evening bag from my shoulder and open the clasp retrieving the hotel key. As I approach the door to Marcus' room, I notice that it is slightly ajar. I pause and lean my ear to the door, listening for signs of movement in the room. Hearing none, I quickly look both ways down the hall to be sure I am not being observed, and open the door slightly. Opening the door wider, I step into the room and survey the situation. Immediately, my eyes find Marcus' body face down in the middle of the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

I freeze and feel myself begin to hyperventilate. I am transported back in time fourteen years to our living room in Phoenix where I found Renee's and Phil's bodies lying in pools of blood much as Marcus is now. _Blood. Blood. There is so much blood_. I feel my head begin to spin, and chills begin to run through me. _Breathe, Bella. Now is not the time to stroll down Elm Street. _I drag myself back into the present using ICBM, the instant calm breath method they taught us in training at The Farm as a way to overcome the flight-or-fight reflex and fight panic.

Breathing deeply, I regain my composure, open the clutch, deposit the unused hotel key, and retrieve my gloves. Closing the purse and securing it under my arm, I don the gloves to prevent leaving any trace DNA behind. I bend at the waist, and quickly take Marcus' pulse to confirm that he is, in fact, dead. Not detecting a pulse, and not wishing to disturb the dead unless absolutely necessary, I quickly search the room for the disk I've come to liberate. The disk is the prize. After searching every inch of the room, and disabling the room safe, I am empty-handed. The disk is not in the room, but it may still be on the target. Not stopping to wonder who killed the target, or why, I start at his feet and thoroughly search the dead man's body being careful not to touch or step in the ever-expanding pool of blood soaking both his shirt and the carpet. _Searching a bloody corpse in a designer gown and heels was not part of the plan for this evening._ _Whoever did this job was one sloppy, careless, arrogant-assed, motherfucker. I mean this was always going to be a wet job, but who unleashed the motherfucking tsunami? As long as I can make it out of here without looking like fucking Carrie on prom night and with the disk in hand, I may be able to salvage this clusterfuck._ Failing to find the disk on the target, I realize that time is running out. There is nothing more I can do here.

"Where is the motherfucking disk, Marcus?"_ Beautiful. Now, I'm talking to a corpse. Fantastic. It's definitely time to get the fuck out of Dodge before I lose it completely._

I step into the bathroom, and remove my gloves, placing them in the plastic bag that Alice slipped in my evening bag. I wash my hands, and check my reflection in the mirror making sure I didn't wind up with blood on me or my dress. Seeing none, I snap the clutch closed and tuck it under my arm and make my way to the door not looking back at the corpse on the floor.

I exit the room and start down the hallway, ever careful not to leave any trace I'd been there. I look up and am startled to see a shock of unusually wild bronze-colored hair crowning the rear view of an extremely tall and lean man clad in what appears to be a perfectly tailored, designer tuxedo as he steps onto the elevator. I've now ventured too far down the hall to duck back into the hotel room I'd just left, and turning around and retreating would seem too suspicious should he notice me. I quickly scan the floor to determine whether I can duck out of sight. It couldn't be that easy; it never is. So much for getting in, doing the job, claiming the prize, and getting out unseen; Em is going to be so pissed. _Fuck Me. Hard. Twice. From Behind. No Reach Around._ At this point, my only saving grace will be if Mr. Tall and Sexy doesn't turn around before the elevator doors close. _Did I just call a potential complication sexy? I definitely need to get out more, and not on assignment. It's been too motherfucking long._ _Head in the game, Bella._ I keep moving forward slowly and casually as I'm silently willing the elevator doors to close before he turns. _Do not turn around. Do not turn around._

Just then, as the elevator doors are closing, he turns, seemingly presses a button, and looks up. _Holy Hell. Could this night get any worse? _Our eyes lock, and suddenly, I'm staring into the deepest, greenest eyes in existence. I feel my heart skip a beat; so much for those nerves of steel Em relies on so heavily. A lazy, yet confident, grin spreads across the most gorgeous face that I've possibly ever seen. I detect a note of something else: triumph. In my peripheral vision, I catch a silvery glint as he slips a small silver object into the pocket of his tux. It couldn't possibly be. My mind is reeling. _HE has the disk. HE killed the target. Fucking Thieving Tsunami. Fuck. My. Life._

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a/n:

A **wet job** is spy speak for an op results that results in death of target or major bloodshed.

**To be perfectly clear, this one-shot would not exist if it weren't for the support, input, and awesome beta skills of Kristi28. You are my Scarecrow. That is all. **

**To MrsTheKing, jslack0816, and distant. dream. 118: your talents inspire me. Thank you for your unending encouragement, advice, pre-reading eyes, and votes of confidence. Your support means more than I can adequately express. **

**To laurasfirsttime, 215, and unconditionally, you are all amazing, and I am so thankful for your support, pre-reading, and terrific input. To laurasfirsttime, and the best fic LilSis in all of Oz, you have the craftiest bone in the land! Thank you!**

**If you've not read **_**Crushed Seraphim**_** by MrsTheKing yet (another fic started as a Femme Noir entry), do not pass go, and do not collect $200. Read it immediately. It is breathtaking and amazing. That, and Johnny Depp cast as the devil cast against Alex Skarsgard cast as God. How can you possibly resist?**

**Until next time, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	3. Chapter 2: Spy Games

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and the not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

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BPOV

_My mind sifts through image after image, memory after memory. All are memories that Jake and I made together: the two of us on a long run; cooking dinner together; rappelling down a cliff face during training; on assignment together; walking hand in hand at First Beach on the reservation at La Push back home; snuggling in bed with the newspaper on Sunday morning, and as always ending the cycle with our final assignment together. This is a familiar dream, and odd because, rather than being in the action, it's always as if I am standing outside myself, viewing my own memories as an impartial observer. This is a recurring dream for me. Each recurrence is more and more unsettling. _

_Jake teases me mercilessly over my obsession with details for the job we're preparing. He tells me to lighten up, and that the op will be a walk in the park. As the objective observer, I know he is wrong, dead wrong, and I scream at him in my mind, but dream me does nothing. She always does nothing, and I know what is coming. It always ends with Jake kissing me and telling me that he'll meet me outside in two minutes, and ordering me out of the building. I always trust him, and wait a safe distance outside the warehouse, eyes trained on the entrance, willing him to appear. I see him in the doorway by the exit, and breathe a little easier when his eyes meet mine. I hear a sound that diverts my attention from Jake, and in that split second everything changes. Every time, I watch helplessly as the warehouse explodes and is engulfed in flames. Jake never makes it out. Usually, this is where I wake screaming and crying, but not tonight. _

_Just before the point where the building explodes, the cycle restarts and I begin revisiting each memory, with one major exception, in each memory, Jake's features morph and become distorted. His deep russet skin pales; his frame becomes leaner and lankier; his short, inky black hair lengthens and lightens taking on an unkempt quality and a bronze hue; and his deep chocolate eyes become a deep green. Suddenly, each of my personal and intimate memories is invaded by the man from the elevator. I am stunned when the bronze-haired stranger steals Jake's line from the warehouse, leans in, and kisses me tenderly. His kiss takes my breath away. This time I anticipate that I will feel only relief when the stranger doesn't emerge from the building before it explodes. When the building does explode, I watch dream me fall on her knees, collapsing in a fit of tears and hysteria. _

I am consumed with an agonizing grief that permeates my consciousness jolting me awake. My eyes fly open and I am screaming at the top of my lungs with tears running down my cheeks._ What the fuck? Who the fuck is he? _

Tonight is the first night I dreamed of that fucking Thieving Tsunami. Unfortunately, I suspect it will not be the last.

I sit up in bed, and take deep, measured breaths in an attempt to stop the tears and slow my heart rate. _What the fuck was that?_ I drag my weary bones out of bed, and head to my bathroom. Splashing cold water on my face to shake the willies that still linger from last night's dream, I breathe deeply and dismiss the mental images as products of stress, the anniversary, and last night's bizarre turn of events. As I brush my teeth, I replay the trip home with the boys, and my initial debriefing with Emmett on the chartered plane that brought us home.

Em didn't ask me how things went when I climbed into the van. We sped off to the airport to make a clean exit; the idea being that no one would even know we were in town. Em and I sat at the rear of the private plane out of earshot from the others.

"How'd it go, B? "

"Not so good, Em."

All business, he pressed, "What do you mean, not so good? Do you have the disk? What about the target?"

"Well, that's the thing. When I got to the target's room someone had gotten there before me. Minus the blood on the walls, it looked like the Manson family had paid our target a visit. Not really, but the motherfucker was sloppy, Em. He was so sloppy and careless…."

"Hold up there, La Femme Nikita. He? That's an interesting choice of words coming from you, Swan." Emmett narrowed his eyes, and I realized that he knew what I would say next was going to ruin his week.

"Yeah, I was getting to that. The someone was getting into the elevator when I left the target's room, and I saw him slip the disk into the pocket of his tux as the elevator door closed. The arrogant asshat had the balls to smirk at me as if he knew he beat me to it."

"Wait. Let me make sure that I'm understanding you correctly, B. He _saw _you? Who is this dude? Certainly, not Volturi. Was there anything distinctive or identifiable about him?"

I found myself recalling the moment just before the elevator doors closed. _Shall I start with his smoldering green eyes, his wild just-fucked-sex-hair, or that square jawline._

"Swan, are you still with me? What's going on with you? I know you've never failed a mission before, but I need you to keep it together so we can figure out what the hell happened."

"It's not the first, Em. It's the second."

"Bella, that was different. That mission was completed, and as I've told you time and time again, you are not responsible for Jake's death. I know survivor's guilt is natural, but you have got to let that go. I'm serious."

"I know you believe that, Em. Yet, it doesn't matter how many times you say it, you'll never make me believe it."

"I wish you would, B. You're torturing yourself over something that was never within your control."

"That aside, Em. I really fucked things up tonight. I have no idea who the hell he is, or how he beat me to the punch, not to mention why?"

"What did he look like, B?"

I started breathing deeply, so I wouldn't betray just how much that Thieving Tsunami affected me. _How do I describe him without making it sound like I was ready to jump him in the elevator?_ "Hmm… well, I'd put him at early to mid-thirties. He's tall, about 6'2ish. Lean, about 175-185 lbs. Fair, almost pale, as if he lives somewhere where there isn't a lot of sunlight. His eyes were green, and he had this unusual shade of hair, not brown, but not red, sort of in between. It is almost bronze, and looks messy, as if he's just had a good fuck." _Did I seriously just say that to Emmett?_ _It's probably best to leave out the angled jaw and the way his lips curved when he smirked at me… GAH! What is wrong with me?_

Emmett either doesn't notice, or simply doesn't comment on the last bit of my colorful description.

"Hmmm... I'll get Ben to start running a search of operatives that fit this description when we get back to HQ. It's possible that the disk being in the hands of our mystery man is far more dangerous than when the Volturi brothers had it. Any sense as to whether they made copies?"

"I honestly don't think they had time, but I don't know, because I didn't have a chance to interrogate Marcus."

"Well, we've got our work cut-out for us, don't we? I'll put out some feelers first thing in the morning to see what I can scare up. Maybe some of our friends in the field, or affiliated companies, can help us shed some light on this situation before the disk can do any damage."

I sighed, "I'm sorry, Em."

"What are you gonna do, B? You did your best; I can't ask for more than that. Someone just got there first. You can't win them all. I know you have, but generally that's not the way of the world. We'll figure it out, and do damage control as best we can. Don't worry, kid."

"That's a bit cavalier, considering that national security is at stake, don't you think?"

Em shook his head, sighed heavily, patted my hand, and stood up to take his seat near the front of the plane. "You'd better get back to your seat. We'll be landing soon. Oh, and be sure to get a good night's sleep tonight. I'll need you in the office by 1 p.m. tomorrow afternoon. We'll need to touch base, file a report, and meet with the team."

I nodded and made my way back to my seat to prepare for landing.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, and pull my hair back into a ponytail. I return to my room and pull out a pair of running tights, a sports bra and long-sleeved t-shirt. Paired with my navy hoodie, two layers should be plenty warm enough. I dress quickly and head for the door. After putting on socks and shoes at the door, I head out for my run.

Feeling my feet pound the pavement a little harder than necessary, I pick up my pace to drive my demons away, or outrun them, I'm not sure which. I am hoping that sheer exhaustion will chase the overwhelming sense of foreboding that will not leave me. Clearly, the motherfucking Thieving Tsunami invaded my dreams, because he botched _my_ job, and ruined _my _record. As I'd reminded Em last night, the only other job I'd done that had not gone perfectly according to plan was the one that was a regular feature in my recurring nightmare. It is only logical that my subconscious would link the events up. _It doesn't take a motherfucking PhD in psychology to figure that out. Eat your heart out Dr. Phil, or shall I say Dr. Cope. _

Dr. Shelly Cope, one of the Company shrinks, who just so happens to be assigned to our team, has had her eyes trained on me since Em carried a catatonic me into HQ after the warehouse incident. If it weren't for Em, she would have had me hospitalized, but he convinced her that he and Alice could reach me. They took me home, cared for me, and brought me back to life for the second time. Dr. Cope visited the house daily to check on us, and to determine whether I needed more intensive medical or psychiatric intervention. Eventually, I came around, got better, and was dying to throw myself back into work. Dr. Cope relented reluctantly. I remember hearing her and Em talking in hushed tones in my kitchen. She was warning him that I was quite fragile, and that his plans for me could have one of two outcomes: it could prove cathartic and help me heal, or it might just destroy me. I remember thinking at the time that either option would be equally acceptable. However, secretly I yearned for my own complete and utter destruction.

I make my way back to the house, noting that I'd clocked five, ten-minute miles. _We're getting soft, Swan. _Heading to the shower, I grab a cup of black coffee, and carry it to the bathroom with me. I start the shower, making the water as hot as I can possibly stand it, and peel off my sweaty clothes. I step into the shower, and allow the hot water to wash away all that is plaguing me. I make a mental note to call Charlie after work tonight, and to gather up the evening wear and gear from the previous night to return to Alice in her lair at HQ. The hot water begins to soothe my stiff muscles, and I relax into the spray. I make a mental grocery list; I want to have Alice over for dinner this week. We need to catch up, and have some girl-time away from the office. My thoughts return to the previous night's events, and as I run through the sequence of events, I question my every move wondering if there was any point that my actions could have lead to a different outcome.

I reluctantly step out of the shower before the water turns cold. Drying off, I wonder how we will find the disk now that the motherfucking Thieving Tsunami has it, and we have no fucking idea who the assmunch is. I note that Em was remarkably calm, cool, and collected when I delivered the bad news last night. That must mean I'm in for an earful this afternoon. _Fuck my life!_ I dry my hair and dress quickly noting that I need to hurry if I am going to make it into the office by 1 p.m. as Em requested.

As I dress, cleanly and simply, I steel myself, preparing for the disapproving stare that Alice will inevitably level on me. Clearly, gray worsted wool trousers, a black cashmere turtleneck and my black well-heeled Michael Kors ankle boots would not be nearly fashion forward enough for Alice. Honestly, I can't be bothered with that shit. Why would I even bother when Alice has that shit on lock? I fashion my long dark brown hair into a low knot at the base of my neck, and make quick work of my face, keeping it simple with a nutmeg-colored eyeliner and a pale pink lipstick. I make a mental note to grab my large dark Jackie O sunglasses from the hook in the entry hall. They will strategically hide the fact that I haven't slept well from everyone but Alice and Emmett. I can live with that.

I stop to retrieve my bracelet from the platinum tray on the top of my dresser. I fasten the loose silver links around my wrist, and hold the intricately carved, russet wolf between my thumb and forefinger. _Ahhh, Jake. I remember the moment you gave this to me._ As I study the tiny, wooden charm, I am reminded of the moment fifteen years ago when Jake first fastened this bracelet onto my wrist. It was a gift for my high school graduation. At some point during the graduation party that Billy and Charlie had organized for me on the reservation at La Push, Jake had taken me aside, and pulled me out to his garage where we'd spent countless hours as kids: him tinkering around, fixing things, and me keeping him company. Those were such simpler times, happier times. Jake pulled me into his arms and whispered into my hair that he had something for me. When I looked up at him, even at sixteen he was ridiculously tall and enormous, his eyes held that trademark mischievous twinkle. I remember thinking that he was up to something, but was floored when he fastened my bracelet on my wrist. It was perfect. The loose, silver links and the exquisitely beautiful, lovingly handcrafted wolf that hung from one of the links took my breath away. Perfection.

The Quileute tribe has strong ties with the lore of the wolf, and wolves are a bit of a totem or mascot for the men and boys on the reservation at La Push. I realize now that it all had more meaning and symbolism than I ever could have possibly comprehended as a naïve eighteen year-old. I knew that Jacob Black's ties to his tribe were an integral part of who he was and who he was becoming, and I accepted all parts of him. To my astonishment, on that day, Jake had revealed that he had painstakingly carved the tiny, exquisite russet wolf with his own hands to let me know that he considered me family, and that he saw his future with me. At the time, I simply accepted his gift as gracefully as I could manage, thanking him for such a thoughtful and personal gift. I respected not only the time, thought and care he took in crafting this gift for me, but also what it meant to him. Jake was two and a half years younger than me. I suppose, in his way, he was marking me as a warning to all those college boys who might challenge his claim on me during the time that I was away at school, and he was still in high school back on the reservation. Honestly, I didn't mind; I never did. Jake was the path that I always knew that my life would logically take. He knew this. I knew this. Our families knew this.

I bring myself to the present, forcing myself to shift my focus away from the bracelet that has become so much more than a mere accessory to me. Over the years, especially the years since Jake's death, it has become somewhat of a talisman to me. In truth, it is one of my only remaining links to Jake; my truck is another. I make my way to the kitchen quickly grabbing the ingredients for a green smoothie. I blend it all together, pour it in my travel cup and make my way to my truck.

Ahhhh… my truck. I love my truck. I smile every time I lay my eyes on my souped-up, cherry red, 1953 Chevy pick-up truck. It was the second such truck that had found its way into my life. The first was a hand-me-down that Charlie had bought from Jake's dad, Billy, when I permanently moved from Phoenix after Renee and Phil were murdered. I think it was Charlie's emotionally-handicapped way of providing support to me in those early days in Forks. This truck was a gift for my 25th birthday from Jake. My original truck had long since died, and Jake knew this well. He was with me the day that it died: a day that always made us both dissolve into uncontrollable laughter. To my complete and utter shock, Jake had procured another identical truck, and painstakingly restored it to near perfect condition, down to the shiny, cherry-red paint job, and presented it to me resplendent with the obligatory enormous red bow on the occasion of my 25th birthday. I couldn't believe it. It was hands-down the best, most romantic and thoughtful gift I'd ever received. Jake promised that he'd keep ol' Mathilda, our jointly christened name for the behemoth, running for the next 20 years. Neither of us realized that he would not be around to make good on that promise.

The commute to HQ is quicker than usual, likely due to the fact that I wasn't going in to the office until 12:30 p.m. That would explain it. I pull into the parking garage, and park. I grab the dress, shoes, accessories and other accoutrement that I must return to Alice and head up in the building elevator. I swipe my security clearance card repeatedly to make my way into the bowels of the building, and finally arrive at Alice's office. Office isn't really the appropriate word. My dear friend's HQ lair would give even the most rabid techno-nerd, male or female, a raging boner. Alice is queen of the techno-nerds, or techint as we call it in the intelligence community. She is a true gadget guru. Her office is not only her work space, but also houses all of her toys that we use in the field. However, her office closet, which is a misnomer because it is more like an additional room, would give even the most well-established design houses a run for their money. She is also our resident mistress of disguise, and her closet holds all her tools of that trade. I knock on her door and brace myself for the onslaught.

Alice looks up from her work, and squeals, "Belly! How'd it go last night? Wasn't that gown divine? You looked absolutely fabulous by the way. I saw the surveillance images. However, please be careful when running in the Jimmy Choos, will you? You nearly broke a $600 heel, twice."

"Hi Alice." I don't even know where to begin after that episode of verbal diarrhea. I begin with the obvious. "Surveillance images? I went in naked last night, and was not carrying a camera."

"Yes, well. Eric, James, and Ben hacked into the hotel's computer systems and accessed the security footage to analyze what happened last night. That's all I know."

I nod. _I wonder if they were also able to capture an image of that fucking Thieving Tsunami_. "How are things around here today?"

"Well, Em is in a snit. He's been a complete and total bear all morning. As far as I can tell and have heard, he's been on the phone from the moment he arrived this morning. Apparently, there is much to do to close out last night's job?" She hazards a pointed glance at me.

"Whatever are you suggesting, Alice?"

"Here, give me those things." Alice holds out her arms and takes the garment bag and other bags I'm toting, and disposes of them in what I can only assume must be an extremely elaborate organizational system. Alice's ways always mystify me.

"I am suggesting nothing whatsoever. I am telling you that something has our boy's knickers so twisted that not even the Chinese Laundry will be able to help him get them sorted out. Be forewarned AND forearmed. However, that is not what I am concerned with, today. Tell me. How are you holding up, my dear? I know this is not an easy time of year for you. How are you faring on the heels of the anniversary, babe? I tried to warn Emmett, but he just never listens to me. He's almost as stubborn as you are, you know."

"Wait a minute. What did you say? What did you tell Em?"

"Oh, don't get _your_ lingerie in a twist. Although, heaven knows, your lingerie could do with a good twisting, or better yet, a bit of ripping, for that matter! Just how long has it been now? That may be just what you need to shake this funk you've settled into as if it is a lifestyle choice. Perhaps mister bronze-fuck me-hair can help you out with that situation?"

"I am not in a funk, Alice." _Bronze fuck-me hair? What the fuck had Emmett filtered through to her? How could she possibly know about him. _"Wait one hairy minute. What did you just say?"

Alice coughs, thinking she's funny, and blurts, "Bullshit!"

Suddenly, I see red, and my cheeks betray my ire. She is pot and I am kettle. "You want to talk about bullshit? Let's talk bullshit. How many years are you going to carry a torch for a man you haven't seen in…how many years? Not to mention, you don't really know how he ever felt about you in the first place, or if he's ever coming back! Delusional, party of one: there's a table for you right here by the kitchen."

"Okay. Wow. That was cold, Belly. You cut me. That hurts me, because we both know that man is my other half, and I am destined to grow old with him. He just doesn't know it yet. He'll come around. Any other outcome is simply unfathomable. I will forgive you, because I know you are under a lot of stress, not to mention that you are grieving the anniversary of Jake's death, and apparently reeling from this latest turn of events. But, I digress. Yes, well, I am still pining for the one that got away. That is my cross to bear, and I will bear it lovingly. I know we will be reunited one day, and he will be unable to resist my charms. This is a foregone conclusion. What you cannot possibly begin to understand is that he is worth it. You'll see. I will end up with my 'one-that-got-away,' I have no doubt. You, however, need to quit acting like the not-so-merry widow, and get your seat back into the saddle. When was the last time you even got laid? Just sayin'. "

I blink trying to process her most recent episode of verbal diarrhea; still distracted by her reference to my stranger from last night. _Terrific, Bella. Now, I'm referring to him as 'my stranger.' __Next thing you know I'll be picking out china patterns._ With that thought, I feel my arms wrap around my middle; an involuntary reaction whenever that familiar, gnawing pain is triggered. _Why must I torture myself this way? _I ignore Alice's not so veiled reference to my inability to move on after Jake's death. There have been a few random, anonymous hook-ups to scratch a very particular itch that my Magic Wand just can never seem to reach, but nothing beyond that. "Do you even know if he's even still on this continent or alive , for that matter?" I see her face pale and her lip quiver uncontrollably.

I shake my head, and nod. "I'm sorry, Ali. I'm such a bitch. What can I say? That was completely uncalled for, seriously. Forgive me?"

She pounces on me and wraps her tiny body around me squeezing me within an inch of my life, "There's nothing to forgive, Belly. I know that this time of year is tough for you. It's completely understandable. I love you. I do not, however, love your dated fashion sense. What are you? Jackie O, circa 1992? Seriously? Yes, everyone loves a classic, but you wear it as if it were a uniform. The good news is that we can work on that. As for your devastating bitchiness, do not give it another thought! I know you cannot help what flies from that mouth of yours during these days any more than I can resist a sale at Bloomies! You are forgiven. You know I love you hard, and I know you love me hard back, even though you have a strange way of showing it. You're my girl! Let's get to work. Talk to me. How did the arsenal work out?"

I sigh heavily, "Yes, I know, you mean more to me than you can possibly know. The arsenal seemed perfect. Too bad I didn't have a chance to use any of it."

Alice's eyes grow impossibly wide, "What? Is this the complication that Emmett cryptically mentioned?"

"Yeah, someone beat me to the punch. The mission was a failure. We still don't have the disk, and now, we have no idea who might be accessing that top secret information. I think Em may literally blow a gasket."

"That explains a lot," she exhales.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's nothing, babe. Em has just been on the phone all morning, presumably shaking down all of our _friends_ to find your secret lover."

"Alice!" I exclaim.

"What? I know you haven't done the nasty with your bronze-haired stranger _yet_, but I also know that he has affected you. The simple fact that Emmett could describe him in such excruciating detail to Ben this morning tipped me off to the fact that this fellow was no ordinary complication for you. You simply cannot hide from Auntie Alice, Belly. When are you going to learn this? Emmett may not pick up on those things, but you can't fool me. Don't even try to deny it. I know when you are lying. You cannot lie to me, and Em cannot lie to me, and we all know that I know these things. Period. You don't have to say a word. I know you well enough to know this much. Last night, you met with a force that rocked your world, and one that will very likely rock all of our worlds for the foreseeable future. Deny it, I dare you."

"No, no. Of course not, and I won't deny it. As usual, you're right. That motherfucker ruined our op, and now he's fucking haunting me like Casper the not-so-friendly ghost. I barely got any sleep last night. Speaking of, how do you know about him?"

"Keep up, Bella. Eric, James, and Ben pulled footage from the hotel's security footage early this morning, and have been pouring over it for hours. They captured the image of your guy slipping the disk into his pocket from the camera in the elevator. He is devastatingly handsome, isn't he?"

I roll my eyes and ignore her, "You've talked to Emmett?"

"I have. Of course, would you expect any less of me? What's next?" she asks, and I detect a note of fear in her voice. Fear is not something that is characteristic of Alice. I feel myself react to her nerves.

"Honestly, I'm not so sure. A lot of that depends upon how Emmett wants to proceed. We have no idea who this dude is, or what his angle is. At minimum, we need to liberate the disk, and terminate the new target, the new target being Mr. Bronze-fuck-me-hair. Beyond that, I haven't a clue."

"Perhaps target termination won't be necessary, or even desirable, in this case?"

I gasp realizing how thoroughly I'd slipped up. _Where the fuck was my game? _I knew Alice always suspected the true nature of our ops together. She provides the motherfucking tools of my trade for fuck's sake. She, however, never gives anything away. Between us, we'd always adhered to a strictly 'don't ask; don't tell' policy regarding specifics of individual missions. I'd just breached our unspoken code. _Fuck. My. Life. Why would I jeopardize Alice like that? What the motherfuck is wrong with me? _"What are you suggesting?" I manage to cough out despite my horror.

I simply cannot bear the sympathetic look that permeates Alice's gaze as she responds. "Oh, it's nothing. We could all benefit from remembering that in those moments when things appear to be so crystal clear, things are not always as they appear. Certainly, you can attest to that?"

Taking a deep breath, and assimilating all that Alice had offered regarding what would come next for us, I reply, "I can, indeed. How very Yoda of you, Ali. I'll talk to Emmett, and we'll get this sorted out. There is no need for the entire team to suffer due to the stupidity of one member: namely me. Is there, now?"

Alice nods. "Not at all. You're too hard on yourself. However, you do need to cowboy-up and face Emmett. More importantly, you need to face Mr.-fuck-me-hair, and get that disk back."

"Yeah, yeah, Alice. Were it that simple. We have to find him, first."

"It is exactly that simple, Bella. Just go see Emmett."

I nod and head out of Alice's office and down the hall. I steel myself for what comes next as I knock on the door to Emmett's office.

* * *

a/n:

In the intelligence community a_** friend**_ is slang for an agent, informant, or mole providing information to a handler. It is also slang for Britain's secret intelligence service, MI.6. Our gang will use this term interchangeably throughout this little misadventure.

**TECHINT **is technical intelligence; analysis of fielded equipment for training, research, and the development of new weapons and equipment for eventual intelligence use.

**Thanks are not enough for my girls; I simply do not have words to express how much you mean to me: Kristi28, my pal, my beta, my Scarecrow: you're the best [full stop]. MrsTheKing, you are my great and powerful Oz. You have no idea how your words have inspired me. laurasfirsttime, my ficsis, you are the fiercest lionest, and craftiest bone I know. jenniferlyn. 215, you have a heart the size of North Dakota, my TinMan. distant. dream. 118, some days I think we share a brain. unconditionally, I know you played Elphaba, but there is nothing Wicked about your sweet heart, sweetness. And jslack, I know you know nothing of this Oz fuckery, but know that I am proud to be your beta and your friend.**

**Now, if you are not reading Vegas Baby!, by the lovely jslack, you absolutely should be! Isn't everyone reading this gem now? If not, go. READ. It is a delightful and surprising tale. Also, my do not pass go, do not collect $200, fic rec for this update is: 'Where the Light Is' by distant. dream118. It is beautiful, and angsty, and unlike anything I've read in the fandom. Go. Read it. Now. In the interest of full disclosure, I'm not just reccing these fics, because I beta for them. I adore them. Truly.**

**Until next time, my pretties! I hope to get on a weekly Sunday update schedule. More on that, to follow!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	4. Chapter 3: Company Business

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left.**

* * *

BPOV

"Enter!" I hear Emmett's voice boom from the other side of the door.

I enter his large, corner office and immediately notice that he is talking on the phone. He silently waves me in, and gestures for me to sit while he finishes up his call. I cross the room and sit at the small conference table across the room from his massive desk.

"What will it take to get him on the phone, Jasper? Can you help me make this happen? It's important and time sensitive. Uh-huh, I understand. I trust that you'll do what you can."

I wonder who this 'Jasper' he's talking to is. I check my email on my phone to give him a bit of privacy. I can't help but smile as I watch Emmett work from my peripheral vision.

Emmett comes across as a no-nonsense agent who suffers no fools and is all business. However, to those who know him well, he is all heart with a wicked sense of humor, and is a merciless prankster. He is a true man's man, and a natural athlete, but he also possesses charm and manners that betray his humble upbringing in East Tennessee. As well as Em gets along with the guys, he is also a real ladykiller. That twinkle in his eye, southern charm, and mischievous, dimple-laced smirk drops the panties every time. I am a witness to this phenomenon. Oddly, Em never keeps them around for long, and seems to cycle through women like Alice cycles through shoes and handbags. Whenever I ask him about this, he generally just shrugs and says that he hasn't met a girl that could make him want to walk the line, Johnny and June-style. You can take the boy out of East Tennessee, and give him an Ivy League education, but you'll never take East Tennessee out of Emmett.

As far as Emmett has traveled from his roots, he never seems to lose sight or affection for them. Over the years, Emmett has shared a lot about his family and his childhood with me. He was raised on a tomato farm in the foothills leading to the Smoky Mountains outside Morristown, TN, where farmers are famous for their tomatoes. Emmett's mom and dad created a respectable business, and earned the respect of the community, but money was always an issue for the McCartys. Running a small, independent farm that specializes in organic produce long before it was fashionable or _green_ was generally not lucrative. Emmett's mom and dad felt that if they could feed, clothe and raise their six kids to be responsible, upstanding citizens; keep their farm running, and stave off the corporate vultures, then theirs would be a successful life.

Life on the farm was simple. Everyone pitched in, and contributed to the well-being of the family and the farm. There were back porch family jam sessions, and family game nights after all homework was completed in the evenings, and church bright and early every Sunday morning. Emmett always joked that they were like the modern-day _Waltons_. If the McCartys were the modern-day Waltons, then Emmett was their John Boy. Emmett was always the star of the family. He was the oldest of the McCarty's six children, and was always a loving son and good brother. He parlayed a fairly distinguished career as the local football hero into a football scholarship at Dartmouth. However, it was his brains not his brawn that ushered him into graduate school at MIT.

Emmett had confided that he had been recruited by the Company straight out of graduate school much like he had recruited Jake and me years later. He ascended up the Company food chain very quickly. Fairly early in his career Emmett earned three distinguished service awards. The details of the missions that led to the commendations were both classified and well above my pay grade, so I am mostly left to wonder about Emmett's early years as a field agent.

Shortly after Emmett joined the Company, Emmett's father passed away after suffering a massive heart attack. It came on with no warning while he was out inspecting tomato plants in the field farthest from the family home. The farm was situated right in the middle of a dead cell area, so cell phones never worked on the farm. That day, the kids were in school, and Emmett's mom was in town. When the family finally returned home, and found him, it was much too late. After his father's death, Emmett took over as the family patriarch. Even though he doesn't make it back home very often, he makes sure that his mother has reliable farmhands to keep the farm going, and he's funded college educations for each of his five siblings. The youngest, Laurabelle, started school at University of Tennessee – Knoxville this fall. Emmett couldn't be prouder. He always says that if he didn't wind up going to Dartmouth, he would have loved to play ball for the Tennessee Volunteers, as is evidenced by the pennant that hangs just below his Dartmouth pennant on the wall, in the corner behind his desk. Nope, they don't make them any better than Emmett McCarty. There isn't anyone I would rather entrust my life to on a daily basis. Well, with one possible exception:_ Jake._

Emmett's voice brings me out of my daydream, "Yeah, Jaz. She's fine. She's still pining away for your sorry ass though. When are you going to head back to the states, and carry her out of this joint, man? Not that I'm lobbying for that, mind you. She's the best damn techint asset in the business. I can't afford to lose her, not even to you."

_Ohhhhhh… Emmett is talking to 'the one-that-got-away.' Holy Hell! Alice will shit twice and die when I relay this little tidbit. Then, she will want Emmett's balls in a vice, because I'm pretty sure that she doesn't know that Emmett actually knows where her Romeo has been hiding, let alone that he's having phone dates with him. Well, at least one phone date: that I can confirm._

"Okay, Jaz. I'll be in touch, and I expect you and the big fish to be in touch, as well. Sooner rather than later, I hope. Yep, will do. Bye." Emmett hangs up his phone, and looks up at me.

"Was that..?"

He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence, "Yes, it was. I hope that I can trust your discretion on this. The last thing I need is Edna E. Mode storming in here threatening to fuck with my supersuit, B. Seriously."

I crack up at Emmett's reference in spite of myself. Only Emmett would compare our Alice to the pint-sized, cartoon fashionista from _The Incredibles_. _Perfection_. _Actually, he's spot on._ _I must file that little gem away for future use._

"Oh, but it's perfectly okay for her to fuck with _my_ supersuit when she learns that I've kept this from her, Emmett? That is impossibly unfair."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that life isn't fair? Last night would be a shining example of that little adage."

"Ha ha, very funny. I'm giving you two weeks to tell her. Then, if you don't tell her, I will. You cannot expect me to keep this from her indefinitely."

Emmett grins from ear to ear, "That sounds an awful lot like insubordination, Swan."

I level a measured glance at him and wink, just so he knows that I'm joking, "Go ahead. Write me up. Put me on administrative leave. Send James to retrieve the fucking disk. We'll see how well that works out for you."

Emmett's booming laughter fills the room, "You are so full of shit, B. Tell me. Not to change the subject, but we have a fuckton of work to do, missy. How are things looking to you in the cold light of day, Special Agent Swan?"

"Unfortunately, not any better than they were looking last night, Special Agent McCarty." I snark back, imitating the tone of his voice.

"Nice. There have been some developments that I think you will find very interesting. The boys and Angela have been working since early this morning, and have made good progress. We have a team meeting scheduled in the situation room in ten minutes. Did you see the email?"

I nod, "I did."

"Don't think I can't see that you didn't get much sleep last night, either. I believe that was a direct order."

I sigh, "Let's just say I tried to follow orders, but my subconscious had other ideas."

Emmett sighs, clearly concerned. "Fair enough, but I'm going to need you sharp and in top form for the foreseeable future. You're no good to any of us if you're sleep deprived. Savvy? I do remember what yesterday was, by the way. I didn't forget. I just didn't want to be the one keeping you stuck and feeding those old demons. It's time for you to lay those to rest once and for all, Bella."

"Yes, Dad. Unfortunately, that is easier said, than done."

Emmett chuckles and shakes his head, "Why is it that you try so hard to keep everyone at arm's length? You shouldn't go through life in that Teflon suit of armor like the Michelin Man. You deserve better than that, B. I know you let Alice and me inside to a degree, and I understand why. I also understand how well that can serve you in this line of work. Still, you need to find a corner of your life where you can shed the armor, Bella. You deserve that."

"I'm not even sure I know how to do that anymore, Emmett."

Emmett smiles wryly, "Just try." With that Emmett stands up, and puts his hands on his desk. "We have a meeting to attend. If we don't get a move on, we're going to be later than Brandon! Let's go, Swan."

I stand up as Emmett undocks his laptop, and gathers a pile of papers from the middle of his desk. He makes his way to the door, and I follow him, my mind still swimming with what he'd just said to me.

As we leave Emmett's office, Mike Newton, ever the hopeful, sidles up beside me and drapes his arm over my shoulder as we head down the hallway to the situation room.

"Bella, how are you this fine, fine afternoon? Do you have lunch plans? We could…"

My eyes roll involuntarily. Mike is a good guy; he really is, and a good agent. He's solid, reliable, and well-liked by everyone on the team. Unfortunately, he and this misguided torch he seemingly carries for me bugs the ever-loving shit out of me. "Mike. Dude. How many times do I do I have to tell you? It's not going to happen in this lifetime, or the next. I suggest you remove your arm before you lose it."

"Awww… Bella." He whines. "Don't be like that. You know we'd be great together. When are you going to give me a shot?"

"Two words, Mike. Sexual harassment." _I am so not in the mood for his craptastic flirting prowess today._

Mike shoots me his most pathetic whipped-puppy look, and has the audacity to actually look wounded.

With that, Em turns, looks over his shoulder at us, and shoots a pointed glare at Mike, "Newton, you heard the woman. Crash and burn on your own time, will you? We do not have time for that shit this afternoon."

We filter into the situation room where Eric, James, Ben, and Angela have already fired up the computers, and are sifting through chatter on the interwebs. Following Emmett, Mike, and myself into the room, Alice brings up the rear, flirting with tardiness, as always. We all take our usual seats with Emmett assuming his spot at the head of the table.

"Let's get down to business. What have you got for me?"

Ben clears his throat, "Well, we've identified our mystery man for starters."

_No fucking way. I love these guys._ _That fucking Thieving Tsunami's ass is mine now_. _I wonder if I can make draconian punishments fashionable again. That might be fun._ I suppress the urge to jump over the table and plant a big, wet one right on Ben's lips. Yeah, that wouldn't go over so well with Angela. My eyes drift over to Angela and I see that she's hanging on Ben's every word, per usual. Trying to maintain a modicum of restraint, I inquire coolly, "So, who is he?"

"His name is Cullen: Special Agent Edward Cullen. He's an operative for British Intelligence. He's in Her Majesty's service at MI6."

_What the fuck?_ I shoot Emmett a puzzled look, "He's a friend, Emmett? What the hell would he be doing liberating our classified security and mission details from the brothers Volturi? That makes no sense."

"I'm working on that, Swan. There are a few possibilities." Emmett's gaze shifts from me and back to Ben. "Continue. What else do you have on this Cullen, Ben?"

"He's the son of Carlisle Cullen: a Sr. Agent-in-Charge at MI6 who is near the top of the British Intelligence food chain. Edward is a former public school boy: educated at Eton, Oxford and The London School of Economics. He's quite the pedigreed pooch. He holds undergraduate degrees in Classics & Oriental Studies as well as a second in European & Middle Eastern Languages. He has a masters degree in African Studies, and a PhD in International Relations. English aside, he is fluent in French, Mandarin, and Cantonese. He is considered functional and literate in Spanish, Arabic, Amharic, and Kiswahili. Much of his early field work was spent in China linking with and keeping an eye on Zhongyang Lianluobu, one of the Chinese Intelligence Agencies. However, it seems he also has spent a fair amount of time in East Africa and in the Middle East, especially after things heated up post-9/11. While there's nothing linking him to anything other than fairly routine and innocuous missions, last night's events would definitely indicate that there's more to this fellow than meets the eye."

Angela chimes in, "His educational background is a little all over the place, isn't it?"

To which, Emmett responds, "Possibly, but not if he were being groomed for a very particular career path, and I suspect he was. What else do we know?"

I can't take it anymore. "So, how did Captain Egghead wind up in the middle of our op?"

"That still remains a mystery," Ben offers in reply.

Looking more relaxed than he has in the past thirty-six hours, Emmett adds, "I have a few contacts across the ol' pond at MI6, and I've even crossed paths with Cullen, the Senior, on a couple of occasions. I have placed a few calls. Hopefully, we'll get a return call that will shed some light on why they intervened, who has the disk now, and what they plan to do with it. My hunch is that they'll gladly hand it over _after _they've poured over or copied the son of a bitch. Those Brits do believe in keeping their friends close. Ben, keep searching to see if you can come up with any more specifics on Junior's activities. I want to know what his angle is, and if there is anything deeper going on that we need to be aware of as we move forward."

Ben nods at Emmett.

"Move forward?" I ask.

"Yep. After Eric, Ben, and James hacked into the hotel computer system and fingered your boy, I had James do a bit more research on the Volturi brothers and Volturi Enterprises, Ultd. James?" _James and his trying-just-a-little-too-hard-to-look-and-act-like-Alexander Skarsgård-slicker-than-thou ways completely skeeve me out! I just can't help it. There's just something about him._

"I've been able to make a bit of progress on this, but I suspect that I've only scratched the surface. I took the liberty of copying VE, Ultd.'s company prospectus, business plan, and public relations packet from their website. There's a copy for each of you." He nods to the blue folders laying on the conference table in front of each team member. "Of course, we're all well aware of VE, Uldt.'s scope and reach. We also know that their public face is squeaky clean, and it appears that they go to great lengths to keep it that way. Their dark, soft, underbelly, however, paints a much darker portrait. After speaking to a few friends around the community, I turned up a bit more than Ben was able to glean from the usual chatter. All sources confirm that VE Ultd. has rumored ties to every evil on the planet including, the Central and South America drug cartels; the Russian mafia and white slave trade; weapons smugglers in the Middle East; Hamas; Al-Qeada; Bin Laden and, Kim Jong-il. Those are only the rumors we know about at this point. There's bound to be more. If the rumors are true, they are major players in nearly every form of chaos and evil that is currently playing out on the world stage. The question is: are they opportunists or puppet masters? No one knows for sure. "

Ben adds, "The amazing thing is that there seems to be absolutely nothing that connects them to anything illegal, immoral, or remotely shady. They seem to be masters at keeping their hands clean."

I'm confused, and ask, "If the Volturi brothers no longer have the disk, which was our original mission, why are we focused on them now? Shouldn't we be focused on getting the disk back from the Brits?"

Emmett pipes up, "If we understand why MI6 felt it necessary to intervene with the Volturi brothers, then we'll be better positioned to negotiate the disk's surrender, and figure out what is really afoot here. I don't like being caught with our pants down like this. It's unacceptable."

_Clearly, that Thieving Tsunami is clouding my focus. Damn. What is wrong with me? Seriously._

Emmett continues, "James and Ben, keep working the community to see what else you can turn up on VE, Ultd. Alice, do me a favor and dig deep in that techint arsenal of yours, and come up with a camera with sound that can be worn undetected by an agent, likely Bella. It will need to have satellite uplink capability, and be something she can easily activate without compromising herself. Can you manage that?"

Alice grins, "Child's play, dahhhling." She draws out the syllables as if she is imitating Edna E. Mode, herself. _Does Alice have Emmett's fucking office bugged_? "There are some new components that just hit the market that will make this much easier than it has been in the past."

Emmett chuckles and shakes his head at Alice.

_Hmm.. maybe they are testing out new equipment, or he just called her that to her face this morning? Who the fuck knows. Mental note: ask Alice about this. Otherwise the suspense will kill me._

Em continues, "Good. Yorkie and Newton, I need for you two to team-up, and see how far you can hack into the MI6 computer systems. This isn't exactly fair play, and our friends would not take kindly to this sort of breech, so it must be untraceable. Savvy? We wouldn't be going this route if they hadn't pocketed enough information to bring the Company and the US government to its knees. We can't be too careful, here. We don't know what we're dealing with, or what their true aim is. The U.K. is our closest ally, and not likely to throw us under the bus, but that doesn't mean we can afford to be sloppy or careless."

_Yeah, like the sloppy-assed motherfucker they sent in to do my job._

Both Eric and Mike nod, and Mike replies, "We're on it, boss."

"Angela, I need for you to be on standby. I may need your assistance when I finally get our friends at MI6 on the phone. Work with Alice to rig the phone in my office to record and perform voice analysis. We need to know how forthcoming our friends are willing to be."

Earnest and eager, as ever, Angela smiles at Emmett, "Yes, Sir."

Emmett rolls his eyes and levels them at Angela, "Cut the 'Sir' crap, Weber. You know I can't stomach that shit."

"Swan, you have a fuckton of paperwork to do following last night's debacle. I suggest you get on it. We'll reconvene tomorrow morning at 0930 hours, and see where we are. Any questions?"

No one responds.

"Alrighty then, get back to work."

* * *

a/n

**TECHINT -** technical intelligence; analysis of fielded equipment for training, research, and the development of new weapons and equipment for eventual intelligence use.

**COMMUNITY** – refers to the intelligence community across the globe, and includes networks of agents working for intelligence agencies (in this case those allied with the U.S.).

**To my Oz posse (Kristi28, laurasfirsttime, jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, unconditionally, and jslack), you are all so incredibly amazing, and thank you will never, ever be enough! I adore each and every one of you!).**

**As for fic recs, if you're up for a bit of angst, Dear Isabella by jandco and wtvoc nearly sent me over the edge this week! It's heartwrenching, but oh-so-well crafted. Give it a whirl. My do not pass go, do not collect $200, fic for the week is: Expectations and Other Moving Pieces, by chrometurtle. This fic is so angsty and heartwrenching, and I've yet to unravel what is afoot at the ol' Circle K! Go. Read it. Now!**

**To all those who are reading, reviewing, and leaving amazing feedback, THANK YOU! For those of you who do take the time to review, a certain British Special Agent may visit your inbox, and give you a special sneak peek at Ch. 4.**

**Until next time, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	5. Chapter 4: The Tuxedo

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. ****All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is all mine. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

EPOV

_Beauty. She is Beauty. It is clear that this Beauty may very well consume me._ As I sit in the chair in Max's West End tattoo studio, adding to my canvas, I find myself consumed by the memory of her. _Who is that delectable creature?_ She has invaded my every thought since I watched her steal into Marcus Volturi's room from my perch in the maid's cupboard after I'd finished off the wanker, and nicked the prize I'd come to retrieve.

I'd heard the ring of the bell on the lift as I was leaving Volturi's suite. I knew that someone was coming, and being spotted metres away from the corpse would likely ruin an otherwise successful evening. I noticed the maid's cupboard in the hallway, and luckily, found it unlocked. I ducked inside and out of sight. I peered from my hiding place and watched closely as she strode confidently, and with purpose, toward the Volturi Suite. I recall thinking she must be a friend. _She was exquisite_. As she slipped into Volturi's suite, I cursed. I'd not made sure the door closed behind me, and it was clear she had no need of the key card she obviously carried. _Bollocks, Cullen! What in all that's holy were you thinking_? I see her scan the hall looking in both directions before she stepped into the room. Clearly, she was an operative. The questions were, for whom, and what was her angle? From my vantage point in the maid's cupboard, I held no answers: only questions.

As the whirr of the tattoo gun lulls me into an odd sense of relaxation, I find myself silently reciting Lord Byron in cadence with the piercing stab of the needle:

She walks in beauty like the night

Of cloudless skies, and starry skies;

_Bloody Hell! Does she ever._

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meets in her aspect and in her eyes:

_She had the deepest, darkest, most captivating eyes_.

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

This is the eighth occasion that I have sat in Max's chair. On the first, I commemorated the loss of a loved one. During the remaining seven, including today, Max ritually marked my left flank with a series of particularly selected Chinese characters. Each symbol is a personal reminder of what is good, pure and worthwhile in life. Today's symbol is _Beauty_. In a way, these marks are touchstones that I carry with me wherever I go. They are a counterbalance to the evil I hunt and the evil acts I commit. I am an assassin. I am also a covert operative in Her Majesty's service in the British Secret Intelligence Service at MI6, or Six as we civil servants call it, but it is the killer within that brings me back to see Max time and time again.

"Edward, what do you think?" Max asks as he turns off the gun and wipes away the excess ink.

"It's brilliant, Max," _just like her_. "Thank you so much for fitting me in, I know how busy you are."

Max just gives me a nod, "No problem Eddie, I know how important these pieces are to you. You never did tell me what bit of your travels led you to choose beauty."

Max has known me for years. He is a skilled artisan, and his hands are the only ones I'd ever allow to mark me. He enjoys a chat, and always wants to know the meanings behind each of the symbols I choose. I don't lie to him, but I don't disclose the full truth, either. Not only would that be colossally stupid, but it would also breach protocol. Max is happy with the story that my work takes me to various locales around the globe. He is satisfied that each of the symbols links to a memory that I bring back from my travels abroad: a thought, an experience, or an emotion. He isn't wrong. They are all of those things. I am just ever careful not to reveal too much, and keep my descriptions vague and indecipherable. Anything more might put Max in danger, and that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.

"I was just in Abu Dhabi, and came face to face with the single-most, spectacularly beautiful woman I've ever seen." _Bollocks! That's brilliant, Cullen. Telling Max where I'd traveled last night reveals too much. What a cock-up!_ I recover and soldier on, "I can't seem to shake her from my memory, Max. Now, she'll live on my skin." _You are a fucking pussy Cullen, a bloody-fucking-pussy._

"I've been there Eddie. See this?" He lifts his shirt to display a similar tattoo over his heart, but his tattoo had the initials KLSF etched underneath. "She's the love of my life, and the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, mate." _Way to go Cullen, I seem to bring out the twat in everyone. When did I become such a bloody arsehat?_

I pay Max, and head outside to my pride and joy. As I slide behind the wheel, I smile to myself. This 2008 Aston Martin Vanquish makes coming home after a mission worthwhile. I love this car. If this car were a woman, I'd marry it. I'll have to try and get out of London on the weekend, and go for a drive. Driving this car around London isn't really driving it at all. Getting out of the city is really the only way to experience her power and beauty. _Ahhh…Beauty. I wonder where she is now. I wonder what she is doing now. _

My mind drifts back as I make my way across town to Vauxhall Cross. She was a vision as she strode confidently toward the elevator: the arch of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, and the lilt in her walk. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her as the elevator doors closed me off from her loveliness. _Sometimes Byron got it smack on, clever bastard_:

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

_And isn't she just…She is nameless grace personified_.

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

_Get a grip, man. She's just a woman. Lord knows, I have loads of them flocking about. What am I going on about? I must be going mad, or more likely, just in need of a good shag. Perhaps it's time to give Kate a ring…or Jess…or Claire…or Rachel. So much skirt, so little time._

Navigating the streets of London isn't difficult. New York, Istanbul, Beijing and Dehli are all much worse. I'd rather drive here, at home, than in any of those cities, and I have driven in them all. I arrive at work with fifteen minutes to spare before our afternoon debrief. It takes me only a few short minutes to pass though security and enter Box 850. As I exit my car and enable the security system, I hear a low whistle from across the underground car park. Looking to my left, I spot Jasper Whitlock.

Jasper Whitlock is an outstanding field agent for a Yank: a Southern Yank, at that. As a field strategist, there is no one better. He plans and executes field ops as if he studied _The Art of War_ with Master Sun Tzu himself. Jasper has been on loan to MI6 from our friends in America for the past five years. In that time, we've become best mates as well as close colleagues. That's been a bit new for me. For as long as I can remember, I've generally preferred my own company to that of others with only a few exceptions. My parents would be one. _Well, in limited doses, and when Esme is not trying to marry me off to some cow or another._ Jasper is another. Over the past five years, I've grown to trust him more than anyone else at the BOX, excluding my father, Carlisle.

"Jesus Edward, you couldn't have driven the Volvo?" Jasper asks as he walks over and slaps me on the back. "You do realise that whenever you drive that damn car it's like an internal switch flips on, and that cocky, invincible, I-can-do-anything-I'm-Edward-bloody-Cullen shit takes over the front office! Lauren will smell the leather on you once we step in the lobby. I wouldn't be surprised if she greeted you with her skirt up and her legs high and wide!"

"Bloody hell, Jasper, don't even mention her name. I'm still trying to forget about that evening. One misguided shag, and the cow won't take a hint. She may very well be a bunny boiler, Jaz. " I shake my head in disgust and try to swallow the bile that has risen in my throat.

Lauren Mallory is a secretary here at the BOX. She's a beautiful, bottle-blonde, and may quite literally be a bunny boiler. The woman is completely mad. I made the mistake of taking her home one night after a particularly sticky mission went balls up, and our team lead, Rose, had laid into me with a vengeance that is quintessential Rosalie Hale. Call it a momentary lapse in judgment. It was by far the worst sex I've ever had. The next morning Lauren wanted to ride to work together, have lunch and do something later in the evening. I had to tell her I wasn't interested, but she didn't take the hint. Jasper insists that she still holds out hope for an "us." _Whatever the bloody hell that means_. I don't do "us."

As we walk into headquarters, my eye is drawn to a lovely brunette with the same long mahogany locks as my nameless Beauty. _Could it be?_ When she turns and looks at me, I am disappointed. Her eyes are not the same color, and her face is not the same shape. _She is not my Beauty._ The not-quite-beautiful brunette smiles at me. _I wonder if I could fuck her from behind, just so I can wrap her hair around my fist as I pound into her and pretend she is __**her**__?_ Will I ever learn not to dip my nib in the office ink? Decidedly, not.

Jasper nudges me as we step into the lift, bringing a painful reminder of my Beauty as my left arm brushes against my fresh tattoo. As the lift ascends, Jasper inquires about the previous night's op.

"I hear the mission was a success."

I nod, "A fan-fucking-tastic success, mate."

"No complications?"

"A piece of piss."

Jasper busts out laughing as the doors open, and slaps me on the back, "A piece of piss, indeed."

Jasper and I make our way out of the elevator and head off to the conference room to join our team for a routine post-op debrief. As we enter the conference room, I turn and am not surprised that we are the last to arrive. I am quite surprised to see my father standing at the head of the conference room talking with Rosalie Hale.

Rosalie Hale and I are both BOX brats. The BOX, or Box 850, being what we on the inside call MI6 headquarters, and brats referring to the fact that both our fathers are agents, and old mates. Rosalie's father is a good man, and a good agent. Rosalie's mother, on the other hand, is a different story. She is one of those insufferable American women who comes over on holiday, gets some poor sod to fall in love with her, takes up permanent residence, and affects a local accent so she'll sound posh for her friends and family across the pond. Make no mistake, Rosalie's mother is bloody gorgeous just like her daughter, but trying to hold a conversation with her tends to make one's ears bleed. Luckily, Rosalie takes after her father.

Rosalie is our team lead, and my handler. She's an ace. We've known each other since we were kids. We rose in the ranks of SIS as young agents together, and our fathers thought it logical that we team up once I returned home after a series of field assignments. I suspect our mothers hope for something more. Rosalie is far more ambitious than I, so it was no surprise when she had been promoted over me. It's as if she is on her own personal mission to be the antithesis of her wretched mother. Rosalie seems intent on shattering the SIS glass ceiling she goes on about, and with her particular brand of brains, beauty and balls, I have no doubt she will ultimately pulverise that glass ceiling until it is returned to sand. Then, she will likely jar it, and place it on display for anyone who dares challenge her authority. Make no mistake, this rose does have her thorns, and she has no qualms about drawing blood.

I see my father nod in my direction, and motion me over to them. _Here we go._

"Edward."

"Carlisle."

Carlisle puts his hand on my shoulder. "Good to see you home safe, son. As always. I believe you have something for me?"

I smile back. Carlise squeezes my shoulder and lets his grasp linger, betraying his stodgy upbringing. Carlisle is always generous with praise and support. I suppose that has much to do with the fact that he and my mother are more acutely aware than most that there are no guarantees in life. We Cullens understand that you simply never know when you might be seeing a loved one for the last time, so it's best to keep all accounts clear, and make sure that those you love know exactly how much you love them every day you have with them.

"Thanks, Dad. It's always good to come home."

Carlisle nods, "The disc, Edward?"

"Right. I have it right here." I reach into my suit pocket and retrieve a small dark silver box that is about the size and shape of your average passport. I hand it to my father.

"What is the plan?"

"Well, Rosalie will go over that with you and the rest of the team. The first order of business is to get it to the techint guys, and see if they can break the encryption and take a peek. The clock is ticking, though. The Americans are already sniffing about, and I suspect, are about to be beating down our door. It appears you were compromised, son."

My jaw drops to the floor, and from the corner of my eye, I see Rosalie smirk. "What?"

"We'll talk about this at the house tonight, son. Your mother is expecting you for dinner. Now, you two have a debrief to get through."

With that, my father turns and strides out of the room, and I'm left staring after him.

Rosalie clears her throat, "Care to join us, Cullen? Why don't you pull up a chair, and stay awhile."

I take my seat to Jasper's left, and survey the rest of the table. Our entire team is present. In addition to Rosalie, Jasper and I, there are three others: Tyler Crowley, Jason Jenks, and Riley O'Shea. I'm actually surprised to see Tyler sitting at the table. He's a master with encryptions. I would have expected him to be off fiddling with the disc. Jason Jenks is a bit of a jack of all trades, but he is an expert cobbler who manages to be a maestro at creating all our funny papers. Riley, on the other hand, is a whiz with the gadgetry and disguises.

I begin to doodle on the legal pad in front of me as Rose begins, "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I hope you are all prepared to put in some long hours in the coming weeks, because we have our work cut out for us. Cullen was successful in retrieving the disc. It is clear after last night's mission that the Volturi brothers will be significantly weakened by this turn of events, and will likely be thrown into a bit of chaos. However, I expect that they will recover quickly, and we need to be prepared for them."

Tyler looks from Rosalie to Jasper, and back to Rosalie. "Are we still hoping to get the Yanks involved?"

Jasper taps his pen on the table as if he's keeping the beat on a snare drum, "There was little interest when I floated it, earlier. It seems that things may have now shifted." Looking from me to Rosalie he spits, "Did either of you know that the disk that Edward lifted from Volturi's room is property of the United States Government, highly sensitive and protected property, at that?"

Rosalie looks back and forth between Jasper and me, and doesn't respond.

Jasper throws his pen on the table, causing it to bounce and fly across the room, "That's exactly what I thought. You can't keep me in the dark on this shit, Hale! That is why I am here. What part of liaison do you not understand?" His eyes fly to mine, "And you! If you tell me that you knew what that disc was and where it originated from, so help me…."

I've never seen Jasper this angry, and I've never heard him so much as raise his voice at anyone. I am taken aback, because it seems so completely out of character. I cut him off quickly and continue drawing as I answer looking up to meet his eyes so he'll know that I'm being completely sincere, "Jaz, I didn't know. I had no idea. All I knew was that it contained information that was very dangerous for the Volturi brothers to have at their disposal. I knew exactly what you knew."

Jasper's eyes fly to the three sitting across the table from us, "What about see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil over there?"

Jenks threw up his hands, O'Shea shook his head no, but Tyler looked down and away. Pointing at Tyler and Rosalie, he adds, "I see. So, the two of you are running a completely separate agenda, and are willing to throw the rest of us under the bus? Nice. I see how it is."

Jasper looks like he's about to explode when Rosalie, with eyes flashing, stands and places both perfectly manicured hands on the table, "That's about enough, Whitlock. I am the leader of this team, and I certainly do not have to answer to you. However, so we are clear as crystal, I was under strict orders from above to keep the nature and origin of the disc under wraps. Tyler was included, because he was involved in authenticating the origin of the disc before we sent Cullen in to retrieve it. If you want to know why, on our severely restricted budgets, we were sent in to retrieve an item that doesn't even belong to us; you will need to be taking that up the food chain. That is information that I am not at liberty to divulge. Go ahead; feel free to take this up with Hale Sr., or Cullen Sr. Make no mistake, though, Whitlock, no one is throwing you or anyone else on this team under the bus. I assure you of that. This is all in service of a much larger agenda that is of mutual interest to both the colonies and the crown."

"Well, that's just about as clear as mud after a hard rain, and some swine might be ripe to wallow in that shit, but I'm not one of them. I'll be upstairs having a little talk with your Daddy Dearests."

With that, Jasper stands and pushes his chair back causing it to slam into the back wall of the room, and strides out.

Rosalie exhales slowly, "Fucking Americans."

I chuckle at that as I continue drawing. She always seems for forget that she is one, or at least half of one.

I see her process how to proceed, and she continues with a measured tone. "Crowley, you should join the guys who are working on the encryption on the disk. The rest of you should continue with your current assignments. We'll reconvene day after tomorrow at 1100 hours once this latest development is sorted. Meeting adjourned."

Rosalie stands, gathers her things and stalks out. The boys follow her like three obedient little ducklings leaving me sitting at the conference table. I look down at my pad and pencil, and am greeted with a startling likeness of my Beauty. She takes my breath away once again as Byron's words fill my head:

_And on that cheek and o'er that brow,_

_So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,_

_The smiles that win, the tints that glow,_

_But tell of days in goodness spent,_

_A mind at peace with all below,_

_A heart whose love is innocent_.

a/n -

Britspeak:

**BUNNY BOILER – **an obsessive and dangerous individual, referring to a former lover who stalks the person who spurned them derived from 1987 film Fatal Attraction when Glen Close's character boiled the family pet rabbit owned by her former lover's (Michael Douglas) daughter.

**COLONIES –** the U.S.

Spyspeak**:**

**COBBLER – **a spy who creates false passports, visas, diplomas, and other documents.

**COMMUNITY** – refers to the intelligence community across the globe, and includes networks of agents working for intelligence agencies (in this case those allied with the U.S.).

**FUNNY PAPERS - **slang for the counterfeiting and forged documents section of an intelligence agency or security service.

"She Walks in Beauty" was penned by Lord George Gordon Byron in 1814. The poem can be found in: Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250-1900.

Very special thanks to my fabulous beta and Scarecrow, Kristi28, who guest co-authored parts of this chapter, and managed to keep me from turning Edward into Pussyward, or worse yet, an English FraiserCraneward!

To my Oz posse (Kristi28, laurasfirsttime, jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, unconditionally, and jslack): you keep me keeping on with this fuckery! Thank you is wholly inadequate at this point.

As for fic recs, I'm really wrapped up in _Vegas Baby_ this week, and not just because I beta for this fic. Jslack is on the verge of some unbelievable plot twists and turns. It is not to be missed! If you aren't reading it, give it a whirl! My do not pass go, do not collect $200, fic for the week is an oldie, but a goodie, and features my favorite Edward in the fandom: Deconstructing Dracula, by hmonster4. I realize most folks have likely already read this gem, but if you haven't. You really should. Go. Read it. Now!


	6. Chapter 5: The Good Shepherd

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**EPOV**

Tooling through the London streets from Vauxhall Cross to my parents' home in Holland Park, I feel the weight of the day begin to settle in upon me. While I love my parents, and enjoy spending time with them when possible, I fully realise that tonight is more than a mere family obligation, or lighthearted social call. It is clear that my father and I have business to discuss this evening, and it may very well be quite unpleasant if today's briefing is any indication. As such, I don't even stop by my flat in St. John's Wood, but head straight to the family home so as not to prolong the inevitable. I drive up to my mum and dad's place, and pull the Aston Martin behind my father's black Mercedes surprised that he has beaten me home for dinner. I set the alarm, and head into the house through the rear entrance to see what awaits me there.

I enter the house through the kitchen as my mother is taking a roast out of the oven. _Mmmm…Sunday roast dinner on a weeknight. I wonder what the occasion is_. Mum sets the roast on the counter to let it rest, and jumps as she notices me behind her.

"Edward Anthony Cullen! You startled me. It's just like when you were young. It's a wonder we never tied a bell around your neck, so we'd know when you enter a room!"

Wrapping my arms around her in our usual greeting, I lift her into a big bear hug and kiss both her cheeks. "Hi Mum. Dinner smells wonderful. Sunday roast dinner on a Thursday? What's the occasion?"

I set her back on her feet, and she raises an eyebrow at me, and ruffles my hair like she used to do when I was still in short pants. "Since when do I need an occasion to spoil my boys?"

Resting my arm around her shoulders, and squeezing her by my side, I smile down at her, "You do spoil us, Mum."

"Don't you know that's in my job description?" She quips back with a wink as she steps out from under my arm, and transfers the roast beef and veg to a serving platter. She hands me a dish of her special creamy horseradish sauce, and nods for me to take it into the dining room. I do as she asks, and when I return to the kitchen she is carving the beef roast.

"So, my darling, how is Rosalie?"

I eye her suspiciously, knowing where she is heading with this predictable line of questioning. This is something both Rosalie and I have grown accustomed to dodging when dealing with our mothers over the years. They just can't seem to accept that neither Rosalie nor I have any romantic interest in each other. While we'd both clearly lay down our lives for the other, there simply has never been that sort of spark between us, ever.

"She is fine, Mum. Of course, when last I saw her, she was storming out of a room with her minions trailing behind her."

Mum laughs, "You do have to admire her spirit, love."

Just then, my father pops his head into the kitchen, and pipes in, "Whose spirit are we admiring today, my darling?"

Before she can answer, I roll my eyes at my Dad in reply, "Mum was just extolling Rosalie's virtues again."

Mum finishes her carving and hands the large platter to my father, and quickly transfers the dinner rolls that she had warming in the oven to a linen-lined basket, and orders us out of her kitchen, "Let's go, boys. Dinner is getting cold."

We trail after her, setting dinner on the table and sitting down to eat. I notice my father watching my mother as she lovingly prepares a plate for him. In so many ways, they still seem like newlyweds. Time has deepened their affection and passion for one another, not dampened it. I smile as I watch my father lean in and kiss my mother sweetly as she sets his plate in front of him. It doesn't escape my notice that he also playfully squeezes her bum as she leans across the table, and holds her hand out for my plate.

I can't help but chuckle. "Please, you two, not in front of the child!"

Time has been kind to Esme Cullen in spite of the fact that the twists and turns of life have not always been as charitable. As we each settle into our dinner, I am struck by just how lovely my mother truly is. Her wavy, caramel-coloured hair brushes her shoulders and perfectly frames her lovely heart-shaped face, and the charming dimples I've grown so accustomed to make their appearance as she smiles and shakes her head at my father as he tells yet another off colour joke. Other than a softness that has rounded her curves a bit, her figure has remained much as it appears in the wedding picture that sits on the grand piano in the front sitting room. Aside from the hint of deep sadness that tinges her deep green eyes, my mum still looks very much like the girl my father married thirty-seven years ago. It's amazing to me how she has always loved us so passionately, and always has made our home a warm and loving place in spite of having experienced the single-most devastating thing a parent can experience. It always humbles me to watch how she wrings the good out of every moment in life in spite of her lingering grief.

We finish our dinner amid talk of looming social engagements, and gossip about family friends. Mum serves pudding and a dark roast coffee that Dad had brought back from his most recent trip to Kenya. We both help clear the table, and make quick work of the dishes, when Mum shoos us off knowing that we still have business to discuss. Knowing Mum, we'll find her later either sitting at the piano in the front sitting room, or curled up on the settee with one of her favorite classics.

We make our way to the library that doubles as my father's at home office. Dad stops at the bar cart and pours us both a couple of fingers of Macallan whisky, neat. _Hmm…the old man isn't messing about; this must be serious. Carlisle is nothing, if not predictable_. Dad motions for me to take a seat and closes the door to the library. I sit down in the leather wing chair across from my father's desk in the library, as he walks across the room and takes a seat behind his desk.

"Care to tell me what happened last night, son?"

My father sits across from me with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, hands tented under his chin, and listens closely as I recount the events of the previous evening. When I finish, he nods and is quiet.

"What are you not telling me, Dad?"

"Well, your account gels pretty well with what our American friends are claiming. It appears that the Americans were after the same objective we were last night. They were at the gala. Not only that, but it appears that they were right on your heels, and you were spotted leaving the target's floor after he was terminated."

_Holy Fuck_. "She's a bloody Yank?"

"Who Edward?"

"Beau…the female operative I saw going into Volturi's hotel suite after I'd finished the job."

"Ahh, yes. She apparently is a Yank, and she got a good enough look at you for her colleagues to be able to identify you, and claim that they have security footage of you slipping the disc into the pocket of your tux. What were you thinking, son? You know there are security cameras in hotel hallways and elevators. Despite our protocols for sanitising the security footage, it is not foolproof and you know you are never to completely rely upon that. For the record, in this instance, the Americans beat us to the footage altogether. Tell me, how is it that you didn't pocket the disc in the room?"

I am stunned. I didn't even realise that I hadn't pocketed the disc after I terminated the target. _That was colossal cock-up_. "I have no idea, Dad. I can't believe I made such an amateurish mistake. What is the proximal fallout?"

"Well, according to Jasper, the Americans know just about everything there is to know about you, very likely down to what you had for breakfast this morning. In his words, 'he got his ass chewed like a tough cut of beef for being out of the loop on this one.' He was not pleased."

"Yeah, Jasper laid into Rosalie during the meeting, and stormed out to go see you and Hale Sr. I've never seen him so angry. Frankly, Dad, I don't blame him. They are our allies. Why are we duplicating efforts and keeping them in the dark? It makes no sense."

"What I am about to tell you is not to leave this room. We have commint that links Volturi Enterprises, Unlimited to some pretty nefarious activity in the Middle East. I can't go into details with you at this point, but let's just say it is in both our and America's interest to isolate exactly what the Volturi brothers are playing at, and neutralise them as quickly as possible."

"If the interest is mutual, then why keep Jaz in the dark?"

My father exhales slowly before continuing, "Let's just say that our American friends require proper motivation to get involved. Thus far, they have not been interested. We're hoping that since we have recovered the disc for them, they will feel indebted, and will join us in committing resources to a joint mission."

I nod and notice that Dad's brow is furrowed and he looks very concerned.

"There's more you need to know before this goes any further, son."

"What is it, Dad?"

"I suspect and have very good reason to believe that Aro Volturi had something to do with Tanya's disappearance and death."

It feels as if he has just punched me in the stomach with the force of a heavyweight boxer. I struggle to retain my composure.

"What do you mean? What have you found? Are you sure? You need to send me after him, immediately."

"Relax, son. This will have to be handled very delicately, and no one at the BOX can find out that this mission is anything other than business as usual for us, Edward. Do you understand?" Taking a deep breath, he continues, "I can't give you any details at this point. However, through our other commint efforts to isolate illegal activities being supported, or orchestrated behind the scenes by VE, Ultd. It is becoming apparent to me that the Volturi brothers were behind Tanya's death, and that it was in direct retaliation to an old grudge that I wasn't even aware existed. Aro, his brothers, and I were mates once. We were at Uni together, and knew each other quite well. We weren't as close as you and Jasper Whitlock have become, but I would say that we were nearly that close. In fact, Aro and I were also once in competition for your mother's affections at one point. I, luckily for you, emerged victorious there. Aro conceded gracefully, but things deteriorated between us after that. The Volturi brothers and I have a long and complicated history. I have very recently learned, and it now appears that history may have cost us Tanya's life. I'm so sorry to have to break it to you this way, son. Your mother has no idea, and I would appreciate it if you would keep this between us. As you know, she struggles enough as it is."

My mind reels trying to process all this new information, "Of course, I wouldn't dream of saying a word about any of this to Mum. That is your tale to tell, not mine. What's next?"

"Well, it is critical that we secure the Americans' full support and commitment. Our best bet is to partner with them outright, and launch a joint mission. I expect Rosalie's team will be paired with an American team, and I anticipate that you will be paired with an American agent to do the field work."

"You know I work best alone. I don't think this is such a good idea."

"This isn't your call. If we are able to get the Americans to join us, you are expected to check your ego at the door, and work with them to achieve our individual and collective objectives. Do you understand?"

"Would this be the Crown's objectives, or the Cullen's, Dad?"

"The Crown's and the Amercians' objectives, Edward: our personal objective is aligned with both."

I nod understanding the seriousness of the situation. Dad would not have breached protocol and confided in me if he didn't feel it absolutely necessary. This situation with the Volturi brothers must be even more critical and dangerous than he is implying. I smooth the front of my trousers with my palms, and feel the folded piece of paper in my left pocket. I pull it from my pocket and open it, smoothing the creases where the paper was folded, and find myself mesmerised by her image again.

"Not to completely change the subject, but could you do me a favor, Dad?"

"What do you need? You know, I'll do what I can."

I lay the sketch on his desk, and he looks at the sketch and up to me. "She is very lovely. Who is she?"

"I have no idea. She is the operative that spotted me in the elevator with the disc. I'm pretty sure the likeness is accurate enough for a facial recognition search. Can you have the guys find out who she is, and what her angle is?"

He studies my expression carefully as if trying to discern my true motives. I hope my poker face is intact.

"Certainly, son. That seems like a reasonable tack given you were compromised, and knowing a bit about the agent who fingered you couldn't hurt. I'll take care of this first thing in the morning, and let you know what I find out."

"Thanks, Dad. One more thing, can we keep this between us. I'd really rather not have Rosalie breathing down my neck about this if I can help it."

"You do know you can't keep her out of the loop altogether, don't you? She will find out."

"Yeah, I know. I'd just rather have a heads up on what we're dealing with before we get the ol' girl all wound up."

"Fair enough. I'll let you know what I find out as soon as the boys get back to me."

"Thanks, Dad."

a/n –

Spyspeak:

**COMMINT **– acronym for communications intelligence.

Britspeak:

**UNI** – slang for university.

**As ever, a very special thanks to my fabulous beta and Scarecrow, Kristi28, who goes above and beyond the call for me at every twist and turn despite what is going on in other parts of her life!**

**Another extra-special thanks to laurasfirsttime, who is not only my fic sis, but is also the craftiest bone I know and the source of any/all OLR banners, blinkies and graphics. She also runs the OLR live journal at: .com**

**To my Oz posse (Kristi28, laurasfirsttime, jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, unconditionally, and jslack): I'm going to be as cheestastic as I want to be and say that you are the wind beneath my wings. It's true. You are. **

**As for fic recs, OMFG! The EPOV from Expecations and Other Moving Pieces by chrometurtle has completely shattered me tonight. Ugh! It is not wussperv approved, but if you can stand a bit of angst, this is beautifully crafted. Truly. My do not pass go, do not collect $200, fic for the week is: Stranger Than Fiction by MasenVixen. These ladies are amazing, and I think they are crafting an incredibly compelling twist on canon E&B. I'm L-O-V-I-N-G this fic! Go. Read it. Now!**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	7. Chapter 6: Amercian Dreamer

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

BPOV

I pull the naan out of the oven, cut it into fourths, place it in the bread basket with the warming stone, and cover it with a linen napkin to keep it warm. Tonight is a night for all of Alice's favorites. This may be because it has been so long since the two of us have had an opportunity to have a girls' night. However, it may also have something to do with the fact that I feel wicked guilty over keeping mum on vital information regarding Alice's "one-that-got-away." Either way, I have been channeling my inner Iron Chef Cat Cora, and have pulled out all the stops, and assembled all of Alice's favorites including: the veggie samosas that I'd pulled from the freezer: I'd made them from scratch one weekend after a particularly successful op; the homemade spicy chutney that she deemed nectar of the gods during one dinner; dal; basmati brown rice; a lamb vindaloo guaranteed to make our eyes water; and homemade kheer, an Indian-spiced rice pudding with jasmine tea for dessert. My down time on assignment in India had been well spent.

The pièce de résistance is a large pitcher of Alice's favorite cocktail: Captain Handsome. Only Alice would discover a cocktail that she swears was inspired by her one and only. She discovered it at some hip hotspot in Seattle called Vessel while on assignment a few years back. She never said, but I suspect she may have actually been there with her 'one-that-got-away.' The funny thing about Alice's poison of choice is that it is pretty and looks fairly harmless, but it packs a wicked punch. It is the hint of absinthe that gives the cocktail that knock-you-on-your-ass-and-make-you-see-stars-quality, and is likely how the drink earned its name. Ironically, that's precisely how it seems that Jasper Whitlock affected Alice. As far as cocktails go, honestly, I prefer my old standby: a nice single malt on the rocks: Glenfiddich, if it is available. However, tonight is not about me.

It is clear that my guilty conscience is working overtime, and I was neither raised Catholic nor Jewish. _Damn you, Emmett McCarty!_ Nonetheless, tonight we are pulling out all the stops, and hopefully, I will be able to keep from spilling the beans about Jasper Whitlock. Beyond that, I hope I will be able to keep Alice from grilling me about that fucking Thieving Tsunami who now just so happens to now have a name, and his name is Edward Cullen. _Edward-fucking-Cullen: the angel of my nightmares and now bane of my entire-fucking-existence._ Laying odds on the evening, I realize that I stand a far better chance of achieving the former rather than the latter.

The doorbell rings as I am finishing up setting the table, and I run in and switch the burners to warm before heading to answer the front door. I open the door, and am greeted by a force of nature who manages to greet me with a hug and a kiss on each cheek despite being weighed down by armfuls of bags and packages.

"Hi Belly! I am so excited. It's been too long since we've had a girls' night! I brought all the necessary supplies. Mmmmm…something smells delicious! You made the vindaloo? With the dal…and the samosas…and the chutney? You do love me!"

My head spins from her verbal explosion. For such a small person, Alice fills a room like no other. Unloading her arms, and helping her carry things into the living room, I can't help but laugh, nod, and tease her mercilessly, "Of course, I love you, Alice. Oh, let me count the ways…I love you to the width, depth, and breadth of your secret closet!"

Alice dumps the contents of her arms onto the sofa, and turns to me feigning hurt, "I see how it is. You are just in this for my fabulous toys and incomparable fashion sense!"

Rolling my eyes, I quip back, "Yeah, yeah, Alice. That's exactly it, and don't forget your shy and retiring demeanor! You know I keep you around to help me channel my inner Siddhartha." We head to the kitchen, and I hold the pitcher up for her inspection, "How about a cocktail? I made your favorite."

Alice giggles like a school girl, bounces up and down in a way that only she can, and waggles her fingers on both hands suggestively at the pitcher, "Oooooooo…Captain Handsome! Come to Mama!"

I pour two of the pale lavender cocktails after rinsing the glasses with absinthe, and set out some poppadoms and chutney while I put the finishing touches on dinner, and Alice gets comfortable, her legs dangling from the bar stool at the kitchen island as she watches me work.

"You know, Bella. If this espionage thing doesn't work out, you could open a restaurant. It amazes me how you manage to master local dishes whenever you are on assignment. How do you do that?"

I shrug, "It's a foodie thing, I suppose. I always cooked for my dad, and the boys on the rez back home. I guess it stuck. I've just widened the repertoire beyond meat and two veg over the years."

After a couple of cocktails, and a bit of shoptalk, I refill our glasses and put the food on the table. Alice brings her glass to the table, and her eyes widen, "Belly, you cooked enough for an army!"

"The better to send leftovers home with you, and to take to Em for lunch tomorrow, my dear."

"You spoil us!"

"It's in my job description. Hey, speaking of Emmett: I have a question for you. Do you have Em's office bugged?"

Alice laughs and her eyes widen, "Whatever would make you ask that?"

"Just something Emmett said to me about your alterego, Edna E. Mode, earlier today, and then you deadpan that spot on imitation during our briefing this afternoon."

Alice dissolves in a fit of giggles, "Ohhhhhh…THAT. That is a running joke between Em and me." Alice digs into the dishes on the table as she continues, "It actually dates back about four years ago when we were both spending a lot of time over here. You were really out of it, so I'm not surprised you don't remember. One night, Em brought over pizza, beer, and Disney movies to help take your mind off of things. Do you remember that at all?"

The festering hole in my gut that never seems to heal completely twinges, and I realize that Alice is referring to the weeks shortly after Jake's death. I grab the sides of my chair to keep from wrapping my arms around my middle in what has become a trademark move that would surely worry Alice, and ruin our evening. I manage to eke out, "Not really, Alice. Those days are a still a bit fuzzy for me."

Alice continues without missing a beat, "That's understandable. Well, Em was teasing me about being our team's version of Edna, thinking he was being sooooo funny. I decided I like the comparison. Edna kicks ass, and has style doing it. She's so much better than those wimpy Disney princesses, don't you agree?"

Unable to restrain myself, I roll my eyes as I fill my plate, "Whatever you say, Alice."

A fair bit of gossiping, and two very full bellies later, I refresh our cocktails and begin clearing the table. Alice joins me, and we make quick work of the mess, and pack up the leftovers. As we're finishing up, Alice skips off to the living room where she had dumped her things upon arrival. When I join her, refreshed cocktails and a second pitcher of Captain Handsomes in hand, she has laid out an array of chick flicks on the coffee table, and has set up all the supplies needed for facials, manies and pedies. _Damn, she works fast_. _You'd think she was equipped with some supernatural powers or something._ Before I can comment, Alice interrupts, "I brought everything we'll need for a successful girls' night!"

Surveying her set-up, and being a bit at a loss for words, I nod, "I see that."

Alice turns to me with a box in her hand, "Now, before we get down to business. I have something for you, and I know how you feel about presents, but this is different."

I groan, "Alice. It isn't even my birthday, or Christmas, or any other hokey greeting card holiday that you would use as an excuse. What's the deal?"

Alice smiles brightly, "The deal is that I know how hard this past week has been for you, and I know that you're still struggling to put Jake's death behind you…."

"Let's not go down this road tonight, okay? Maybe I'm just not ready. These things take time, right?" I counter.

"Isabella Marie Swan. I know you love Jake, and that he was the person you were closest to in the entire world, but I fucking guarantee you that if he can see you now, he would not be pleased with how you are sleepwalking through your life as if you are goddamned zombie! The only time you have any spark of life is when you are on the job. That is no way to live, and you know it! You also know that Jake would be furious with you for essentially closing up shop, and barely living as if this is honoring his memory." Alice finishes waving her arms around wildly in exasperation.

"What is your point, Alice? Did you come over here to rake me over the coals, or to hang out and have fun? What's it going to be?" Suddenly I feel ambushed and exhausted by the evening's turn of events.

Alice sees my shift in mood, snakes her arm around my waist, and offers me a small box tied with a platinum ribbon. "I had no intention of rehashing all this when we planned our girls' night, and I certainly don't want to make you sad, or ruin our evening. I just want you to know that Jake is not the only person in your life who gives a damn about you, chica. Now, shut up and open the box!"

I look sideways at my bossy, irrepressible friend and shake my head. I pull the ribbon, lift the lid of the box, and I am greeted by a small silver charm of two Asian characters. I look up at Alice, my eyes questioning her offering.

"It's for your charm bracelet. I know how important the bracelet is to you, and it is high time that it becomes more than a wearable shrine to Jake's memory. Yes, he will always have a place in your heart as well he should, but you are alive, and it is time you rejoined us among the land of the living. It's also high time you realize that you are not in this alone. There are others who love and care about you, Bella."

I exhale slowly, touched and not having any words to respond, or thank her. I know she is right. She is right about all of it.

"It's the Chinese symbol for sisters. You truly are like a sister to me, Bella. It's platinum, not silver. I wanted it to be durable like our friendship. I hope you like it." With that, she lifts my wrist, and clips the charm onto my bracelet opposite the russet wooden wolf.

I smile down at her, and wrap her in a hug squeezing her tight accepting her gift with as much graciousness as I can possibly muster, "Thank you, Alice. That is so thoughtful. I think of you as my sister, too. I really do. Your gift means a lot to me, honestly." Regaining my composure before she could detect the chinks in my armor, I switch the subject, "Now, what girlish fuckery do you have planned for us this evening?"

Alice kisses me on the cheek, and squeezes my hand, knowing not to push, and holds up two handfuls of DVDs. "Pick your poison, _Legally Blonde_ 1 and 2 or _Love Affair_ and _An Affair to Remember_."

Alice doesn't play fair. I know very well that the Elle Woods Barbie-pink extravaganzas happen to be her all-time favorite chick flicks, while _An Affair to Remember_ and its 1994 remake with Warren Beatty, Annette Bening and Katherine Hepburn secretly happen to be mine. I don't remember ever telling her that. Honestly, I'd rather endure Chinese water torture than watch three hours of Elle Woods, but giving Alice the satisfaction of knowing that she was spot on with her alternate choices didn't sit well, either.

Shaking my head in response, I counter, "How can I possibly choose?"

"Well, I do have one other option." Alice holds up _Notorious_ and raises an eyebrow.

"Cary Grant, Ingrid Bergman and Hitchcock it is, then. That's an excellent choice, Ali." Breathing a sigh of relief, I take the DVD from Alice and pop it into the player, setting it up.

Alice pats the seat beside her, and we settle in for an evening of pampering, on-screen romance cloaked in a spy thriller, and a steady stream of Captain Handsomes.

Two hours later, we are exfoliated, buffed, polished, and quite wasted. I don't think either of us had giggled that much in years. For me, it's been four years to be exact. The movie was great. Ingrid Bergman's character, Alicia, had some of the best one liners I'd heard in a long time. I'd filed more than a few of them away for future use. There's just no arguing with Hitchcock, or Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant for that matter. _Mmmmm…that Cary Grant did have a certain je ne sais quoi_. _Not wholly unlike another Brit who'd happened into my life recently. GAH! Stop it, Bella. The only relevant detail worth noting about that Fucking Thieving Tsunami is that he royally fucked-up your op, and stole national secrets. No other details are relevant. _

Despite our compromised state, I miraculously manage to keep from spilling the beans on Em being in contact with Jasper, and surprisingly, despite a few thinly veiled references to that Thieving Tsunami, I am able to avoid Alice's version of the Spanish Inquisition regarding one Special Agent Edward Cullen. All-in-all, the night is a success on all fronts.

As the credits roll, I look over at Alice and realize that there was no way in hell that she would be able to drive home. While she manages to polish off the last of the Captain Handsomes, I venture into my bedroom, and pulled out a sleep shirt. I figure Alice would have a much better chance of making that work than swimming in a pair of my pajamas. Having procured something for her to sleep in, I walk across the hall and pull towels, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a razor, and a handful of bogarted hotel toiletries, and leave them in the guest bathroom. I take a bottle of ibuprophen from the cabinet above the sink. I slip back into the kitchen, fill a glass of water, take them back to the guest room, and leave them on the bedside table. I turn on the bedside light, turn down the bed, and shut off the overhead light returning to where Alice is dozing on the sofa. I stop by Alice's purse, and pocket her keys just in case, and tip-toe beside her and gently shake her awake.

"Alice, the guest room is set up for you, and I left everything you'll need to clean up in the main bathroom. I also left one of my sleep shirts in the bathroom for you. Let's go. It's time for you to sleep off your Captain Handsome!"

Without missing a beat, Alice's eyes snap open, and she quips back, "I'd much rather sleep on him, thankyouverymuch. Actually, were he to magically reappear, I can guaran-fucking-tee you that there would be very little sleeping happening!"

"Okay, Ms. Sex Kitten. TMI aside, let's get you to bed, so Jasper can find you in your dreams." _Holy Fuck! Busted! She's never actually mentioned his name to me. Now what? _Luckily, Alice is apparently too far gone to notice my snafu, gets up, gives me a hug, and stumbles down the hall to the bathroom.

Shaking my head, I stifle a laugh and call after her, "Are you going to be okay?"

She waves me off and blows me a kiss as she closes the bathroom door. "I'll be fine. Sweet dreams, Belly-girl."

I close up the house, pour myself a large glass of water, take a couple of ibuprophen as a pre-emptive strike against the inevitable hangover that I am sure to wake up to in the morning, and head off to bed.

_I am startled to consciousness feeling a hand stroking my hair. Lying on my side, eyes still closed, I stretch, first noticing that the covers are bunched around my ankles. Curiously, at some point, I had slipped out of Jake's old plaid flannel pajama bottoms and black t-shirt that I had self-tailored so I could reasonably sleep in them. Jake was a big guy, and there was no way I could have worn his things comfortably without altering them a bit as I found in the early days after his death. Truth be told, I've rarely slept in anything else over the past four years. However, tonight I realize that I am bare and uncovered._

_The cool night air dances across my bare skin, but I feel a heat radiating from behind me, warming me. Before I can turn to seek its source, I feel a finger tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and a tongue trace the curve of my ear as the warmth draws me closer and envelopes me. Mmmm…Jake. I've missed you so much. My thoughts are punctuated by the sharpness of teeth sinking into my earlobe. I gasp and feel a shiver run through my body, waking parts of me that have been dormant for much, much too long. _

_I feel warm hands smooth my hair aside as lips place feathery kisses at the base of my skull. Lips morph into a tongue trailing along my jugular, and lips morph back into teeth scraping and nipping along the slope of my shoulders. Teeth returns to tongue, and electricity sparks through every nerve ending as this tongue lazily trails along the length of my spine marking me vertebrae by vertebrae. I feel my nipples stiffen in arousal from the sensation, and I begin to squirm, my hips rolling and thighs tensing involuntarily under these ministrations. Jake always was an attentive lover, but there is something different in his touch tonight. There's an urgency, a heat, an edge that I don't ever recall existing between us. Mmmmm…I like it. I like it a lot._

_I moan softly as I feel long fingers grip the curve of my hip firmly, and my moan turns into a gasp and a whimper as teeth sink mercilessly into the flesh at the exact spot where the curve of my hip meets the swell of my ass. I am lost to the shudder that wracks my frame, and my clit throbs in response to the exquisite pain of being branded. Once seemingly satisfied that I am thoroughly, if not permanently marked, the hands trail up my body pushing my arms over my head as that mouth, those teeth, that tongue kisses, licks, and nibbles each and every one of the eleven inked blossoms that adorn the length of my right side as if making a point to love even the darkest, most depraved parts of me. I purr as each kiss, lick and nip enflames me further._

_Suddenly, I am at war with the part of me that wants to lose herself to the heat, the rawness, the arousal, and the part that recognizes that something is not quite right. Something is odd. Jake never saw my ink. Ever. The killing didn't begin until after his death. If Jake is here with me…how is that possible? Nothing makes sense._

_Before I can make sense of anything, strong hands wrap around my wrists pinning my arms over my head, and I feel the heat intensify and hover over me setting me on fire. Suddenly, lips crash against mine in an urgent, demanding kiss. The intensity takes my breath away as that tongue claims my own. Teeth take my lips between them, tenderizing them, bruising them._

_The hands move further up my arms settling on my biceps still pinning my arms over my head as those lips trail kisses down the curve of my neck, and along the line of my collarbone until they find the swell of my breast. With a squeeze to my biceps that signals me to leave my hands over my head, the hands trail along my sides and join the tongue that is tracing light circles around one nipple, and then the other teasing them to stiff, aching peaks. The hand palms one breast, and I feel my nipple caught between what must be a thumb and forefinger as lips close around the other nipple. Teasing shifts to rolling and pinching as licking turns to sucking and biting. Mouth and hand alternate from one breast to the other until my back arches and I am nearly levitating off the bed with arousal. _

_I cannot stand it any longer. I lift my hips off the bed, and press myself into his length. Aching to feel him inside me once again, I beg. Shamelessly, I beg him to fuck me over and over. Lips stifle my begging with a deep, soulful kiss that touches me at my core as he bends my knees and spreads my legs wide. I am so wet; I don't think I have ever been this wet, or this aroused for him, ever. He finds my slick entrance, and grunts as he plunges into me with one thrust filling me completely, stretching me open to accommodate his girth. I inhale sharply and moan into his mouth, lifting my hips to meet him, deepening our kiss._

_Lost in the moment, I barely notice that his kisses are rougher and laced with more passion than I recall, or that when he moves inside me, the heat, the way he fills me doesn't feel the same as it once did. He pounds into me with more urgency, slamming into me, taking me more roughly than he ever has before, and I am swept away. I feel my orgasm building. Without saying a word, he senses how close I am, and reaches between us and takes my clit between his fingers, and rolls it in quick circles without breaking the rhythm of his thrusts. As my body nears release, he pinches my clit mercilessly, and sets of a series of convulsive tremors that flow through my entire body. _

_A loud moan escapes my lips as I ride out my orgasm. My eyes finally fly open, and my moan dies in my throat, and is replaced by a blood-curdling scream. My body trembles in the aftermath of my climax, and I am astounded to find myself looking into deep emerald eyes, not deep, chocolate brown ones. Fucking Thieving Tsunami!_

I sit straight up in bed stifling the screams that surely must have woken up Alice. _Holy Fuck! Or unholy Fuck, rather. What the fuck was that? Better yet, how the fuck am I going to explain this to Alice? Jesus, Bella._ _Now you're dreaming of that motherfucker? What's next?_ I look down at myself and I am covered in a layer of sweat, and Jake's pajamas are drenched in more ways than one. I look at the clock, and notice that it is nearly 5 a.m., so I decide to cut my losses, and go for a run.

I throw some water on my face, brush my teeth, and dress quickly. To be safe, I open the door to the guest room to check on Alice, and am stunned that she slept through my screaming orgasms. I check the coffeemaker on my way out to be sure that it would be ready when I return, or Alice wakes up, whichever comes first, and head out to outrun my latest nightmare. I am not sure whether I am more disturbed by my glaring betrayal of Jake, or by the relief I feel at finally not having to endure reliving the day at the warehouse four years ago, or that afternoon Phoenix nearly fourteen years ago. Then, there was the physical release. _That certainly didn't suck. Holy Hell! That didn't suck at all._

After wearing myself out, I return to the house, grab a cup of coffee, and knock on the door to the guest room to begin to rouse Alice before making my way to my shower. We have another long day ahead, and it occurs to me that mine is about to begin with Alice raping and pillaging my closet before my breakfast smoothie. _Delightful. _At least, we wouldn't be playing a game of twenty questions regarding my dream and who starred in it over morning coffee and hangovers. _Thank heaven for life's little blessings_.

a/n –

No Brit Speak or Spy Speak this week. The next few chapters will make up for that.

You readers are so fabulous and supportive. Thank you for being so amazing, and for being willing to take a chance on this bizarre little incarnation of our favorite characters. I read, adore, and respond to every review. Usually, reviewers receive a teaser for the next chapter as a token of my deep appreciation. Just saying. We all love reviews.

As ever, thanks to my fabulous beta and Scarecrow, Kristi28, who goes above and beyond the call with every single chapter even amid a houseful of germy fuckery!

To my Oz posse (Kristi28, laurasfirsttime, jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, unconditionally, and jslack): thank you for your unending support and encouragement. Your feedback and pre-reading eyes keep this thing moving forward.

As for fic recs, I've been snowbound for the past three days, and may finally emerge and return to the office later this morning. You'd think this would mean I spent the entire time writing. Yeah, not so much. I did do a fair bit of reading though. I got completely sucked into (that's what HE said) _All of Me_ by flibbins after tarasueme rec'd it on the Perv Pack Smut Shack. Now, this one is a bdsm fic, and you should go in knowing that. It's not for the faint of heart. Dare I say it is a little hardcore, but interestingly and deliciously, so. My do not pass go, do not collect $200 fic of the week has to go to: _Incubus Anomaly_ by elusivetwilight. I'm really enjoying where she's going with this one. Give it a whirl.

Your next hit of OLR will be posted on on Sunday February 14th. So, Happy Valentines Day (to everyone except my dear pal and TinMan jennifer. lyn215. Happy Birthday, JL!)!

Until soon, my pretties!

xoxo,

drs


	8. Chapter 7: Mission Impossible

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**We're adding a new feature to OLR. From this chapter forward, each chapter will receive and official wussperv rating from our official wussperv and Oz posse member, unconditionally. Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 7 is: 100%. This chapter is 100% wussperv safe and approved.**

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**BPOV**

An hour and a half and a session with the fashionista version of a Tasmanian devil later, Alice and I shower, dress, and head to the kitchen. I manage to make a blender full of my green smoothie with an extra couple shots of liquid B-12 making breakfast double as a hangover cure. I fill two travel mugs, and another two travel mugs with coffee. I stare at Alice in disbelief as she abuses the brew with an appalling amount of sugar, creamer and vanilla flavoring that she manages to scrounge from my cabinets. Bewildered, I cannot help but stare. _Can you even call that concoction coffee after what she does to it?_ _To each her own._ I prefer mine black: the stronger, the better.

For someone who claims to have a hangover delivered straight from the bowels of Hades, the woman makes my head spin like no other. _Of course, that porntastic dream that kept me from getting any sleep has nothing to do with it. Hah! _We grab the leftovers, and I make Alice her own little lunch, and pack the rest up for Emmett and me. Ever eco-conscious, we leave Alice's Mini Cooper in my driveway, and finally load ourselves into Mathilda and head off to headquarters for our morning briefing with Emmett and the rest of the team.

Our commute is uneventful, but for Alice's constant jabber. _If the average woman uses 25,000 words in a day, Alice has enough words for four women_. She goes on and on about the new advances in some gadget technology, or other. Frankly, I can't be bothered to catch it all. I am not a morning person, so honestly, this morning I tune her out and find myself distracted and squirming in the driver's seat with images from that inexplicable fucking dream. _Those hands…those lips…that tongue…those teeth…those eyes. Now, they have a name: Edward Cullen. Special Agent Edward Cullen. Edward-Fucking-Cullen aka Thieving Tsunami turned Fantasy Fucker. Fuck! Snap out of it, Bella_.

Alice jolts me back into the present, and rush hour traffic, "Bella! Have you even heard a word I've said for the last ten minutes?"

I smile to throw her off the scent of my daydreaming. I'm still amazed that she seems to have not heard anything last night. If she did, she's not saying anything, which is so not like Alice. _Maybe she was drunker than I thought._

"I'm listening, Edna. I obviously don't bounce back from a hangover as quickly as you do."

This seems to satisfy her, and she returns to her monologue for the rest of the ride. I, however, spend the rest of the ride trying not to think about a particular green-eyed monster. We make it into the office right in time for our briefing meeting. Alice and I part ways, and I drop the leftovers in the office fridge on my way to the briefing room, not wanting to be late.

As we take our usual seats in the situation room, I notice that Ben, James and Emmett are the only ones missing. _Ears, Eyes, and Big Poppa: now, that is a curious combination. That and those three are never late._ I glance around the room, and notice that everyone seems caught up in their own little worlds this morning. _What's up with that? _Just as I begin to wonder what could be afoot, the three of them saunter in looking like they'd found the solution for global warming. I can't help but roll my eyes, and shoot a look at Alicewho is completely oblivious, and looks like she's playing an enthralling game of "Anywhere but Here," hangover edition. Our ride to work has completely sapped her energy, it seems.

Emmett closes the door to the situation room behind him, and clears his throat signaling that he is ready to begin. "I spent much of yesterday, and a fair bit of the wee hours of this morning trying to track down the disk, and determine what the Brits want with it. After speaking with a few contacts at MI6, their account is that they were at the gala on other business, happened across our disk, and being good friends, liberated it for us in the course of their other work. They, of course, are happy to return the disk to us at our earliest convenience."

At that, Mike Newton says in a stage whisper that sets Angela to giggling, "After they've pillaged and plundered its contents, I assure you."

Then, ignoring Mike's antics, James of all people pipes in and asks, "So, what is their take on the Volturi? Do they have anything that we haven't got?"

Emmett exhales slowly and continues, "Good question, Hudson. That seems to be the crux of it all. The Brits have intel that points to Volturi involvement in the situation in Afghanistan. They seem convinced that the Volturi are working through a web of shell organizations in Africa of all places to funnel weapons, supplies and other resources to the Taliban and Al Qaeda to fortify the insurgence against U.S. and U.K. forces there. With the President's December declaration, and priorities for ending the war in Afghanistan, this makes the Brits' claims of particular interest and relevance to us."

Mike, being our resident military expert, pipes up, "Are they suggesting that the Volturi's efforts will undermine the most recent surge?"

Emmett replied, "That is precisely what they are suggesting, Newton. This makes this whole ball of shit our problem. Of course, the Commander in Chief and the National Security Council want this matter handled quietly which means the armed forces will not be involved."

Finally, I find my voice, "So, what does that mean for our team, Emmett?"

"I'm getting to that, Swan. Senior management has brokered a joint op between our team and a team at MI6. We will be imbedded with the MI6 team in London for the foreseeable future. I need all of you to get things in order, and be prepared to leave one week from today at our usual departure location. Plan on being on TDY for six to nine months. It may be longer, but I can guarantee we'll be in England for a minimum of six months. Each of you needs to make the necessary preparations."

My eyes survey the team, and expressions range from excitement to dread. None of us expected this turn of events, and some are more gung ho than others. However, as agents, we know that this sort of deployment is always a possibility.

Emmett continues, "I trust each of you have personal affairs to get in order before we depart, so we'll reconvene a week from today at the airstrip hanger at 0930 hours, prior to departure for a pre-TDY briefing. You should arrive with everything you plan to take with you for the duration. Weber will coordinate, and has inventory lists for each of you to fill out; detailing everything you plan to take from the office. Weber, would you care to lay out the process for them?"

Angela takes a deep breath, and nods at Emmett, "Certainly. Everything you plan to take from HQ must be inventoried, and approved prior to departure. There's no need to take office supplies, and that sort of thing. We will have a workspace at MI6 HQ, and I will procure those things through their channels. Only take things that you think will be relevant to the assignment, and that I won't be able to procure for you across the pond. The only exceptions to this are Mike, who will be handling weapons and munitions, and Alice who will be handling her own personal arsenal."

With that I notice that James is rolling his eyes, and cracking his knuckles as if annoyed. _What is his fucking malfunction? I wish I could figure it out._

Angela continues her instructions ending with, "Each of your inventory lists will be reviewed, screened, and delivered to the air strip the day we leave. Each of you is responsible for packing up what you need, labeling your boxes, and leaving them by the door in your offices. Any questions?"

Surveying the faces around the table, expressions vary from shell shocked to distracted to overwhelmed. Emmett calmly closes the silence, "Seeing none, I trust that each of you will be preparing to shift operations to our new base of operations in the U.K. If you have any questions, or encounter any challenges, stop by my office, or see Weber."

Emmett surveyed his team to determine whether there was any hesitancy among the group. Seeing Alice's bewildered expression, he added, "Brandon, I have arranged for you to have a similar space to what you have here at HQ. Plus, you will have your own flat, and will have a work space there that will enable you to work autonomously. Pack what you think is necessary. Anything additional you need, you'll be able to procure in London. I've negotiated a generous field budget for you. Have no fear."

Emmett sweeps another glance across our team before concluding, "Any other questions?"

Just then, Eric Yorkie speaks up, "I have a question. What is the IT and communications situation?"

Emmett nods "Thank you for asking that, Yorkie. For the most part, MI6 is allowing us access to their systems and equipment. I'm sure that will have its limitations, just as it would if we were hosting them here. I want you, Ben, and James to rough up what we will need offsite in our living quarters to maintain normal operations. This must be able to serve us when we're stationary as well as when one or more of us are further in the field. We need to be able to operate independently, if necessary."

It seems that all of us are too stunned by today's events to respond, and Emmett capitalizes upon our surprise. "Okay, if there are no further questions, I'll expect to see all of you here one week from today with everything in order, and prepared to board a plane for jolly ol' England. Savvy?"

Looking around the room, some nodded, and others murmured assent. It was clear that Emmett had dismissed us to get our affairs in order, and the team began to disperse. Then, Emmett surprised me by adding, "Swan, I need to speak to you in my office. There are some details regarding the TDY that we need to discuss."

"Okay, Em. I'll meet you at your office in ten minutes?"

"I'll see you then, B."

_I wonder what Em could need to speak to me about without the team. Is there a termination pending with this new op?_ I can't seem to noodle it out. _Oh well, I'll find out soon enough. _

As the rest of the team disperses, I stop by my office; pick up my cell phone remembering that I'd still not yet called Charlie. I hit three on the speed dial, making a mental note that I really should delete Jake's numbers from my phone. It's not like they work anymore. They haven't worked for nearly four years. In the first month or two, I would call his numbers just to listen to his voice. I finally had to close the accounts realizing paying for a cell phone, and a land line just so I could listen to Jake's voice definitely fell into the _not healthy_ category in Dr. Cope's book.

Charlie's cell sent me to voice mail. _Hmm…one of three things is afoot. He's either busy out on a call, has left his cell at home, or has let the battery die again_. Noting the time on my office clock, I realize I might be able to catch him at the station, and dial again. This time, Charlie's new deputy, Seth Clearwater, answers the phone. I recognize his voice right away.

"Forks police station, this is Deputy Clearwater. How may I help you?"

"Hey Seth! How are you doing? This is Bella."

"Bella! How've you been, girl?"

"I'm doing well. How about yourself?"

"Can't complain, Bells. Your dad is a good man, and a good boss. I figure I've got it easy."

"He always did like you, Seth. I'm guessing he would say that he's the lucky one. How are things down on the rez?"

"Things seem pretty good out on the rez. Sam has really done some great things for the tribe. I guess you heard that I moved into town last year, but I get out there a couple of times a week to visit my mom and check on things."

Seth always had such a good heart. He was a couple years younger, but he always used to trail after Jake and the other guys on the reservation. That's how I met him, and got to know him. Sam Uley was the oldest in that pack that Jake ran with, and always was a natural leader. It was no surprise when he ascended to chief shortly after Jake died. It sounds like Jake would be proud of the work he's doing for the tribe. It's good that Billy and the other tribal elders finally accepted that Jake wasn't coming home to assume his rightful place as chief, and recognized Sam's leadership ability.

"Have you seen Billy lately?"

"Yeah. I saw him last week just before the…ummm…you know…the anniversary. He's doing better, I think, but for the fact that he and your dad have been on the outs for a bit. Otherwise, he seems to be doing much better. Rachel, Paul and their kids moved close by, and Rebecca and her surfer just had a baby, and they're coming to the mainland to visit soon. He seems good."

I breathe a sigh of relief, "That's good to hear, but why are he and Dad on the outs?"

Seth pauses, as if he's not sure he should tell me.

"Spill it, Clearwater!"

"Okay, okay. Charlie should really be the one to tell you though. You have to act surprised when he finally gets around to 'fessing up. Promise?"

"I promise. Now, what's going on?"

"He started dating my mom a few months back, and ol' Billy is a little jealous. He'll get over it."

"Really? Charlie is dating your mom? Did that start up before or after he hired you?"

"After, after. Geesh. You know that your dad wouldn't have hired me had he been dating Mom when I applied."

"True enough." My salt-of-the-earth father would never stand for anything that might smell of nepotism. I suddenly feel a bit less guilty about heading off indefinitely for an overseas assignment.

"Well, that's great. Charlie's been alone too long. I'm glad he's found someone, and your mom is a lovely woman, Seth. Just think, we might be siblings one of these days!"

"We just might, Bells. We just might."

"Speaking of my Casanova father, is he around?"

"No, do you think I would have spilled those particular beans had he been in earshot? This is a police station, Bella. There are loaded weapons here."

I laugh. "Fair enough. Will you tell him I called, and that I'm going to be fairly busy over the next week or so, but it is important that I talk with him at some point?"

"Will do. Are you alright, Bella? I know the past few days can't have been easy on you, either. Is that why you need to talk to him?"

"No. I'm fine. Everything's fine, Seth. Some days are still hard, but it gets easier. Of course, I still miss him. Tell Billy I'm sorry I didn't make it back this year, okay? I have a longer term overseas assignment coming up, and I want to give Charlie a heads up before I have to head out."

"I'll let him know. You take care of yourself, and get back here for a visit when you can, will ya?"

"As soon as I'm stateside again, I promise I'll get home to visit. Who knows, maybe our parents will even be engaged by that time. Wouldn't that be a hoot?"

"Sure would."

"Hey, I'm going to be late for a meeting, so I have to run. You take care of yourself and take care of my dad too, okay?"

"Will do. You take care of you, Bells."

"I always do."

"See ya."

"See ya."

I hang up the phone smiling, and feeling a twinge of homesickness. It's been too long since I've been home. _As soon as this op is in the rearview mirror, I'm heading back to Forks for a nice long visit_.

I realize I'm really pushing it, so I head to Emmett's office stopping in the kitchen to retrieve the leftovers. As I heat everything up, I realize I'll be a few minutes late, but know that I'll be forgiven once he sees that I come bearing lunch.

I gather up the reheated leftovers, and quickly make my way to Emmett's office. If Mike, Eric, and Ben smell the food, and know that I've been cooking again, they will descend like wolves. This will not make Emmett happy, because that will mean less for him, and Emmett has a very healthy appetite.

I use my elbow to knock on Em's door.

"Enter!" He bellows from inside sounding a bit tense, and follows with, "Get your ass in here, B. You're late!"

I roll my eyes in response as I enter and begin spreading the bounty on the table. "Why don't you talk to Alice that way? Besides, I am late, because I brought lunch. Try to be grateful."

"Mmmmmm…you made Indian again, didn't you?"

I spread the bounty out before him, and set a napkin, paper plate, and disposable cutlery in front of him, and set my own down. "I did. Dig in before it gets cold. However, I should have made Thai. I imagine we'll get our fill of curry in London. There is great curry to be had there."

"Well, that's good for me and the rest of the team, but I'm not sure how much curry you'll be having in London. That's what we need to discuss."

_Fabulous…the plot thickens_. It must be another assignment, another termination. "What is it? Tell me."

He takes a bite of vindaloo, and thankfully, chews and swallows before continuing, "In speaking with my contacts at MI6, they feel it would be good to have a mobile unit working in the field gathering intel on VE Unlimited. They feel it will be crucial to have assets imbedded closer to the action should we need to strike quickly."

"So, you want me to go in, and are stationing me in the field? Closer to one of the Volturi brothers' strongholds, I'm assuming? Where am I headed?" I take a bite of naan, and I have a sinking feeling that I'm not going to like what he says next.

"We don't know yet, but we do know that you won't be going alone. We'll find out the where of it when we get to London. The Brits are calling those particular shots. They've got a bit more information on the situation than we do, and have been working on this for a good bit longer. We're late to the party."

"Could you please cut to the chase, Emmett? You are killing me here."

Emmett looks up nervously, puts down his fork, and regains his composure leveling his gaze at me, "Fine, but you have to listen to everything I say, and I want your fork."

"My fork?"

"Yes, just protecting my jugular."

Now I'm nervous. "Very funny, Special Agent McCarty. You've overseen my training. You know I wouldn't need a plastic fork, especially if it is as bad as you're making it sound."

"True. Still, I don't want to make it too easy for you."

I heave an exasperated sigh at his ridiculousness, "I promise I will listen to everything you have to say, and will under no circumstances kill you. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. I will remind you those declarations if you change your mind."

"McCarty!"

"Fine. Our superiors, those at MI6 and I agree, that it would be best to send two agents into the field, and that the team should be one of ours, and one of theirs."

"Em, dude, you know I work alone in the field."

All business, Emmett cuts me off wagging his finger at me. "Tut! Zip it. You said you would listen to everything I have to say, and don't DUDE me, I'm still your superior, and don't you forget it, missy."

"Point made. Go on." Not liking the expression on Em's face, or the turn this conversation is taking, I twirl my fork between my fingers just to mess with him.

Emmett arches a brow, and continues, "You're going to be sent into the field, undercover, indefinitely with a male agent from MI6. Our team, and a corresponding team at MI6 will back you up primarily from MI6 headquarters, but some of us will likely meet up with you in the field, as necessary. We expect that for the foreseeable future the two of you will be working primarily in Europe, the Middle East, and possibly Africa where VE Unlimited have known interests. You will be working side-by-side, and I am assured that the agent you will be paired with is highly skilled and is also equipped with your particular unique skill set."

Seething, I demand, "Do we know who this male agent is?" my voice dripping with venom.

Emmett's eyes narrow, and I can see that he is steeling himself for a battle, "No, we don't at this point. We'll find that out after we arrive in London, but there is one other aspect to this assignment, B."

"What is it?" I exhale slowly. _It can't possibly get any worse can it?_

Taking a measured breath, he continues, "It has been decided that to make you and your new partner as inconspicuous as possible, you should be undercover as newlyweds." With that, I see Emmett brace himself for the inevitable storm before I can even process what he's just said.

"Newlyweds…as in, as a married couple, Emmett?" I question him, making sure that I've heard him correctly.

Emmett swallows and responds, "Yes. That's correct."

I take a deep breath, and feel my face flame red, "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, McCARTY? YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME, BECAUSE I KNOW YOU DIDN'T COMMIT ME TO THIS CLUSTERFUCK WAITING TO HAPPEN, DID YOU? THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE. IT IS FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE…IMPOSSIBLE. A MOTHERFUCKING MISSION IMPOSSIBLE PERSONIFIED! I WORK ALONE…A-L-O-N-E…ALONE!" I stand and scream at him not caring who might hear us. My voice seems to shake the windows, but then I realize it is me who is shaking, and not the windows. Explosion proof glass doesn't rattle no matter how irate a woman becomes. _Hell hath no fury, and all that bullshit. This canNOT be happening._

Emmett takes a bite, lays his fork down, calmly leans back in his chair, and swallows. He lets my screaming fit linger in the air creating the most excruciating pregnant pause in the history of life, the universe and everything, before continuing. "First of all, you don't work alone. This entire team is with you every step of the way. While you may go into the field alone, you clearly do not work alone, and you are not alone. Remember that. Second, I did try to discourage the brass from going this route, but there was no deterring them. This is the way it has to be. This is the way it's going to be, and you need to get used to it."

I flop into my seat still furious, "Well, I hope you managed to get a decent bride price for me, Asshole."

"That's Senior Agent in Charge, Asshole, to you, Swan! I was hoping for a few head of cattle, but had to settle for our disk." McCarty, ever the master of diffusing a situation, retorts without missing a beat, the beginnings of a smirk forming at the corners of his mouth and that trademark twinkle in his eye.

I can't help but laugh at that, "Touché, farmboy. Well played. FUCK, Emmett. You're serious about this aren't you?"

Emmett has the decency to look remorseful, "As my dad's heart attack, B. There was nothing I could do."

I sigh heavily, "Way to make me feel like shit there, pal. Fine. I will go along with this fuckery, and I will be a team player, I promise. However, if this dude is an insufferable prick, you're going to hear about it."

"I would expect nothing less, B. Is your blood pressure going to return to normal, or are we going to need to call in a cardiologist?"

Feeling myself calm down, but still reeling from this newest information, I feel a little nauseous and lose my appetite. I push my plate away and begin cleaning up. Suddenly, I am reminded of a completely different worry.

"Em, we're going to be working with Jasper Whitlock, aren't we?"

Emmett nods in reply.

"What is the story with this Jasper Whitlock? Do I have to worry about having to scrape up Alice off the floor after they see each other again?"

"I don't think so, B. Whitlock is a good agent, and a good man. He's a Texan, and an Aggie at that. He's originally from Houston. He rose through the ranks of the agency around the time that I did, however, he came to the Company following a fairly well-decorated stint as an officer in the Army during the first Gulf War. "

"An Aggie?"

"He has two degrees from Texas A&M. Damn good football school. He was a damn good kicker for them back in the day, actually."

I roll my eyes, "It's all about football with you, isn't it, McCarty?"

"Don't knock it, Swan. Sports build character. Ask that father of yours."

"Yeah, yeah. The tao of the gridiron, I get it." I don't really, but I don't want to get him started. _That reminds me I must get in touch with Charlie. Damnit. I hope Seth remembered to give him the message. If he doesn't get back to me, I must call him tonight, and let him know what's up. Of course, I will conveniently leave out the part where his only daughter is about to become a Mrs_.

"Did you know Alice and Jasper when they met?"

"I did. Jasper and I were working together on an assignment back then, actually. He met Alice, and that quirky sprite knocked him clean on his ass. As far as I could tell the feeling was mutual. It was quite the whirlwind romance. She lent techint to one of the jobs we worked on, and if I recall correctly, they spent some time on assignment together."

"What happened?"

"Well, you know, B. We're all married to the Company, and she is more jealous than the Goddess, Hera. Jasper was sent on field assignment right about the time that our team was forming. Both were huge promotions for both of them. Neither of them were willing, or in a position, to sacrifice their careers for a fledgling romance. Jasper went abroad on an extended assignment, and Alice joined us. The rest you know."

"She's never stopped thinking about him, Em. Do you think this is going to prove to be a problem for us?"

"Nah. Brandon is a consummate professional, B. Give the woman some credit. No matter what happens, she'll be fine. Her concern for you and loyalty to the team will override any personal drama that might be running in the background, I assure you. However, I shouldn't have to assure you. You know Brandon as well as, or better than I do. She'll be fine. In fact, between you and me, Whitlock isn't going to know what hit him. My hunch is she isn't going to let him slip through her clutches twice. Truth be told, he always asks about her, and speaks of her with affection. Mark my words. He'll be pussywhipped before you can say fish and chips!"

I roll my eyes at him. Em is such a guy. "I hope you're right about that, Em. I just don't want her to be hurt. If this Whitlock isn't everything you say he is, she'll be crushed. I cannot bear to see her hurt like that."

"Relax, B. Brandon and Whitlock will be fine. This will likely be the big romantic reunion she's been dreaming of. You, on the other hand, have bigger fish to fry. You need to start wrapping your head around being a Mrs." With that he busts out a few bars of the Wedding March, "Dum…dum…dum..dum."

"Fuck you, McCarty. Don't remind me. How the fuck could you sell me down the river like this, Em? Do we even know anything about the agent that I'll be paired with yet?"

"Nope. Nothing on Mr. Swan yet. As soon as I know, you'll know."

"Fair enough. When do we leave again?"

"You meet your new husband a week from tomorrow, meaning we leave one week from today."

"Are you fucking kidding me, McCarty?"

"Get your shit in order, B. We leave one week from today."

_Fuck. My. Life. _

* * *

a/n:

SpySpeak:

**TDY** - A **Temporary Duty** assignment, or **TDY** (humorous expansion of "Temporary Duty Yonder"), refers to a U.S. government employee or USG contractor travel assignment at a location other than the employee's permanent duty station. A TDY can be to any location, be it 50 or 5,000 miles away, but they are all less than 1 year in duration.

**ASSETS** – Another word for agents.

**Readers, you humble me with your encouragement. Thank you for reading. I read, adore, and respond to every review. As ever, reviewers receive a teaser for the next chapter as a token of my deep appreciation. What can I say? We authors love reviews.**

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**Lioness, LilSis, and craftiest bone I know, thanks for making the blog look so pretty, and for just being so fabulous. If you haven't visited the OLR livejournal, you can find it here: http:// dsrubyslippers (dot) livejournal (dot) com/**

**Thank you to my TinMan, jenniferlyn. 215 for pimping me out at A Different Forest. Happy Birthday, bb!**

**Thank you to our resident wussperv, unconditionally, for instituting the OLR wussperv rating system.**

**As ever, my Oz posse (Kristi28, laurasfirsttime, jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, unconditionally, and jslack), you are all amazing women, and I feel lucky to call you friends.**

**Finally, a very special thank you is owed to Edwardia Maven, who has gone through all written chapters, and made sure that all British references and banter are letter perfect. I'm incredibly grateful. Thank you is wholly inadequate. OLR is better because of your generosity and input.**

**As for fic recs, everyone is already reading Master of the Universe, right? It's one of my absolute favorites. If you're not already reading it, give it a whirl. My do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for this week is: Incubus Anomaly by elusivetwilight. It is a dark and tasty treat! Don't miss it!**

**Your next hit of OLR will be posted on on Sunday February 21st!**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	9. Chapter 8: Best Defense

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 8 is: 94% due to a bit of emo in E's back story. This chapter is 94% wussperv safe and approved.**

EPOV

Once again, I find myself sitting in my father's office at the BOX awaiting his arrival. His secretary ushers me in, and now I am waiting patiently while he deals with other business. This is a usual occurrence for us. As I wait, I'm drawn, as I always am, to the picture of Tanya and me, hand in hand, smiling happily in our school uniforms: our first day at Montesorri school, no doubt. Esme was meticulous about catching all those little moments. Sadly, this was one of the very last she was able to catch of the two of us together.

I shake my head to dispel those thoughts, and turn my attention back to the picture. Tanya and I are a curious combination of Esme and Carlisle. Tanya wound up with much lighter strawberry blond curls that flowed down her back, no doubt due to our father's genetics, while my own hair was much darker and wilder, even then. Tanya was such a beautiful little girl: so much like Esme in that way. Oddly, she inherited our father's brilliant blue eyes, while I sported Esme's deep green ones. Tanya had a delicate sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose and on her cheeks much like the ones that dance across my mother's cheeks, while my pale, freckleless complexion mirrors Carlisle's.

Studying Tanya's freckles triggers another childhood memory. I remember Tanya and me sneaking down to take a peek to see if Father Christmas had delivered our presents one Christmas Eve, and catching Mum and Dad in front of the Christmas tree. Dad was kissing Mum's freckles, and I remember him telling her that before the night was out he'd kiss every single one. That set Tanya and me to giggling, and we were caught spying on our amorous parents. Mum made us each a cup of Cadbury cocoa with a peppermint stick for stirring, and sat with us while we finished it, listening to us as we talked excitedly about all the gifts we were sure that the jolly old elf would be bringing us. Once we finished our drinking chocolate, Mum took us up to our rooms, tucked us in letting Tanya and I curl up in my bed, and sang Christmas carols to us until we both fell off to sleep. There was nothing quite as sweet as Mum's voice as we drifted off to sleep; even now, that is one of my happiest memories. It's so unfair that we were robbed of having more such memories with Tanya.

I sigh heavily, and return the photo to its spot on my father's desk. If it weren't for these family photographs, I don't think I'd still be able to conjure a mental image of her despite our special connection. It was so many years ago now. I can barely recall the gentle tinkle of her laugh, or how she always tried to best me at every turn. She was quite sporty, perhaps even more sporty than me, and she loved it whenever she managed to steal the football from me in the back garden. She wasn't only a tomboy, our Tanya. She was also very girly. I remember her sneaking out of her bed and climbing into mine with an armful of cuddly toys, because she'd had a bad dream, or thought a monster was in her cupboard. I also had vague memories of Mum dressing Tanya up in dresses and ribbons, and Tanya telling me with great authority that she couldn't play outside until after she changed out of her dressing up clothes. Tanya was such a funny kid. I miss her. Even now, all these years later, I miss her as if a part of myself has been ripped away, leaving an open gaping wound that time will not heal. At moments like this, it is unbearable.

Five minutes later, my father wrests me from my sad, shadowy memories, breezing in with a thick folder, and clasps his hand on my shoulder as I rise to greet him.

"Edward. Have you been waiting long?"

"Not very. Any new developments on the situation with the Americans?"

Carlisle slides behind his desk, lays the folder down, and motions for me to sit.

"As a matter of fact, yes. They are mobilising a team, and will be here within the week."

"Jesus! That was fast. Why the change of heart?"

"Well, they are anxious to secure their disk for starters, and they have now come to realise that the Volturi brothers are a reality none of us can ignore any longer."

"You must have been very persuasive." _What tale has he spun to get such an immediate response from the Yanks?_

Carlisle nods, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I and others."

_My father is a master at his work. Perhaps one day I will be half the man and agent my father is. _"Right then. What aren't you telling me?"

"Perceptive as always." With that, he shakes his head and chuckles, "You are your mother's son. There are some details about this upcoming assignment that we need to discuss."

"About the Volturi brothers?"

"No, that will be covered with Rosalie and the rest of your team. You will be briefed with the Americans on those details. There is much to share there, and you will need to be sharp. Do not let on that there is another agenda here, Edward. That is of the utmost importance. Do you understand?"

I nod in response.

Carlisle continues, "I believe Rosalie, Tyler and Riley are working with Bruce to organise that briefing once the Americans arrive in London. Jason is hard at work on prepping your cover, and will be working with a couple from the American team to set things up. This is more about…logistics."

"You don't want Rosalie involved?"

"No, no, that's not it. Rosalie is involved. She's leading the team along with the Senior Agent in Charge that the Americans are sending."

I can't help but dissolve into a fit of laughter. "You think Rosalie is going to share leadership with one of the Americans, Dad? She will eat that Yank alive. You do realise that, don't you?"

My father laughs in response, "I think Agent McCarty can hold his own with our Rosalie. Besides, I do believe that Bruce is having a little chin wag with Rosie about working and playing well with others."

"Well, if Rosalie will listen to anyone, it will be her father." _Wait. This is a new development. Dad was supposed to be the senior agent overseeing this op. How will we manage without his inside information on Aro and Caius? _"I thought you were the senior backup on this mission, Dad. Hale Sr. is working the op as well?"

Suddenly, my dad's voice turns serious. "I am. Frankly, my history with the Volturi brothers is seen as being key to the success of this entire operation by all involved. This is a fortunate turn for us, son. I will be closely monitoring all activities and lending the necessary support throughout. Bruce is just lending initial support, helping ensure things go smoothly with the collaboration, and handling Rosalie. It is very important that this partnership is a success. Do you understand, son?"

_Hmmm…Hale Sr. is handling Rosalie just as my father is handling me. Sneaky Bastards._

Carlisle slides the folder across his desk toward me, and motions for me to take it. I take the folder, open it, and am greeted with a standard, American-issue ID photograph. _It's her…my Beauty_. I inhale sharply and hold my breath as I flip through the dossier. I want to pour over every single detail. It looks very thorough. Of course, why wouldn't it be? Our research team at the BOX is nothing, if not thorough. Suddenly, I can't wait to make my escape, and pour over every morsel. Noticing her name, I chuckle and shake my head at the sheer and utter irony. I look up, and find my dad studying me closely, gauging my reaction.

"Isabella Swan? That's her name?" I'm not sure if it is a question or a statement. I am incredulous.

My father fills the silence. "Yes. As it turns out, Special Agent, Isabella Swan, will be part of the team arriving from America next week. She's the agent that you'll be paired with for the duration of this operation."

I am struck dumb by his revelation. _What are the odds?_ My mind reels trying to process this new information. _Paired with my Beauty? Surely, I must be dreaming. This cannot be true. Suddenly, the idea of having a partner is not quite so abhorrent. Yet, how can I possibly operate with a bloody woman tagging along. Surely, she will only slow me down, and prove to be a pain in my arse: albeit an exquisitely beautiful pain in my arse. Holy Hell! It might just be worth it. _While I'm processing, my father takes an obviously aged, small box that I quickly recognise as being from Garrard Jewelers from his pocket, and slides it across the desk to me.

My father sports a bemused smile and offers, "Right then. You'll be needing these."

I cannot tell what he has surmised from my expression which, I hope has not betrayed too much. I take the box, and open it discovering three rings: his and hers beautifully etched 18k gold wedding bands, and a sizeable diamond in an antique setting. I recognise the antique setting, and I cock my eyebrow questioning him, still unable to speak. I suspect these are not government issue, but have come directly from the vast assortment Cullen family heirlooms in my parents' possession. What is my father playing at? I am still not sure, but don't dare ask.

"You, my dear boy, are officially shackled. You have less than a week to get that harem of yours sorted, and be prepared to begin your next mission. You and Miss Swan will be posing as newlyweds for the duration."

_Bollocks! He intends to marry me off. What can he be thinking?_ _Harem, indeed._ There is no one serious enough in my life that I'd need to prepare them for my change in status. The question is whether I'd be able to manage being out of my usual social rotation. I do have certain needs, after all. I laugh aloud in response. "Newlyweds, Carlisle? You can't be serious. If I didn't know better, I would think Mother put you up to this." _Mum will love this. I can just picture it. She is relentless in her quest to get me married off and all sprogged up. Never underestimate a mother on a mission._

My father chuckles in return, "Make no mistake, your mother will be delighted to see you settled, as she puts it, but this is strictly business. Your mother played no part in planning this op, I assure you."

"You're serious about this, then?"

"Yes, you and Agent Swan will be much less conspicuous if you are travelling as a married couple. Your back stories and identities are being crafted as we speak. "

I can't deny that I rather like the idea of spending more time with that gorgeous creature. _Is-a-bella. How fitting. She is beauty in name, and in truth. Unbelievable. _

"If I have to pair up with someone, I'm sure she is better than some smelly bloke. Married, Dad? Is that really necessary?"

"Yes, it is absolutely necessary. You know as well as I do that in the parts of the world you and Agent Swan will be traveling that an unmarried man and woman traveling together would draw all sorts of unwanted and negative attention. It will go much easier for you both if you find a way to make this work well, and present the image of newly-wedded bliss."

I nod in response. I can't argue with his logic. I would be able to navigate the locales we'd likely be frequenting on this mission on my own without an issue, but an unmarried woman traveling alone or with a man who is not her husband would surely draw unwanted attention. If I had to bring along the American, it was better for both of us and the mission if we posed as a married couple.

"I'll do my best, Dad. You know I've never had a partner in the field. It will be quite an adjustment."

"Well, perhaps Agent Swan will be able to help you out there. Apparently, she worked with a partner for several years. She is well-versed in working as part of a team in the field. It's all in the dossier."

"Where is this partner now?"

"He's dead: killed while they were working an op four years ago. She's been working alone since."

"Brilliant. She gets her partners killed? That's just bloody brilliant."

"Edward. It wasn't her fault. Read the dossier. It appears her partner took some unnecessary chances when detonating explosives to bring down a weapons smuggling ring based in the states, but operating out of the Abacos in the Bahamas."

"Fair enough. I will read the dossier. Does she know? Have they told her that she will be paired with me?" _If she knows she's to be working with the man who beat her at her own game she can't be thrilled._

"No, we've not yet revealed that you are the field agent she will be paired with for this mission, son. I've been in contact with their senior agent in charge, and we've spoken of the mission details, but names were never mentioned on our side. Agent McCarty volunteered that it would be Agent Swan they'd be assigning to the field work for this mission. It is likely that they have revealed the nature of the assignment, but she and her team do not yet know that she will be paired with you for the mission."

"When are you planning on releasing that little morsel, Carlisle?"

Understanding my meaning, Carlisle replies without missing a beat, "After they are happily settled in here. That would be best, don't you think?"

Shaking my head, I can't help but agree. "Indeed. Well, this should be interesting, to say the very least."

We exchange a knowing glance, and I inquire, "Is there anything else I need to know, Dad?"

"Everything you need to know is in the dossier, son. Study it closely. She's an interesting woman, and a very accomplished agent. The key to your success or failure is in your ability to connect, and work well with her. I, of course, have complete confidence that the two of you will work well together, and make this mission huge success. I anticipate that you and Agent Swan will be imbedded for a year or better, so it's important that you understand her as well as is possible."

"Fair enough. It seems I have my marching orders. Is there anything else?" I inquire.

"Yes, make sure you dispense of that harem of yours before Agent Swan arrives. It would not do to have you shagging everything that moves while courting and marrying the American. Do you understand? We need this back story to be realistic. You will have a whirlwind romance, and be swept up by the impetuousness of it. We need this to believable, because there are those who will be watching."

I roll my eyes in response. "I understand, Carlisle. There is no one who will cause us a problem, and I will tie up any loose ends before Agent Swan arrives." _Bloody hell! The sacrifices I make for Crown and country. Hopefully, none of the girls will kick up a fuss. Other than that loon, Lauren, the others will likely not even notice that they've been moved out of rotation. I'll need to text them to let them know that I will be unavailable for the foreseeable future._

"Very well. I suggest you study that dossier closely, and prepare to be in the field for an extended period. You have much to do, the very least of which is that your mother will expect to meet your bride-to-be."

I groan audibly. "Bollocks. You want me to introduce her to Mum? Are you serious, Dad?"

"As a coronary, Edward. You are not leaving the country without introducing Agent Swan to your mother, so get used to the idea now."

That makes no sense. _Bloody-fucking-hell! How are we going to fool my mother? Why does she have to be involved in this at all?_ This is unbelievable, and I cannot believe that my father is not putting a stop to that lunacy! What is he playing at? I cannot work it out.

Still not understanding his methods, I reply, "Fair enough. I will get my affairs in order, and will be prepared to present Agent Swan with these rings when the Americans arrive next week. I trust you will prepare mother. This may be quite a shock to her system. That is your problem, Dad."

"Leave your mother to me, son. We'll work it out. You concern yourself with clearing the boards, discarding that voluminous black book of yours, and preparing yourself to be abroad with your new wife for the foreseeable future."

I shudder at the thought, "You do realise how barbarian this is, don't you, Father?"

Without missing a beat, Carlisle responds, "Desperate times call for desperate measures, son."

I nod in reply. "Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Not at this time. I will keep you posted on any relevant developments."

"Very well, then." I take the file folder and tuck it under my arm. "I'll get to studying this dossier, and prepare for next week's arrival."

Carlisle looks guarded, but nods in reply, "Very well. Let me know if you have any questions. Oh, and your mother is expecting you for Sunday roast as usual. Please say that you will make it."

I laugh in response. "Of course, I'll make it. When have you known me to miss one of Mum's Sunday roasts when I am in country?"

Carlisle nods in response, "Very well. I will see you on Sunday, then."

I rise, knowing that I've been dismissed, and we both have other business to attend, and cannot wait to get back to my office to study up on one, Special Agent Isabella Swan.

a/n:

**I know my a/ns are longer than War and Peace. Forgive me. I'll try to get better about the longish end notes. As ever, I am thrilled and humbled by my readers, both those that review/pm, and those that lurk in the shadows.** **A very special thank you to all who joined as a result of MrsTheKing's read along last night! Thank you!** **As ever, reviewers receive a teaser for the next chapter (and possibly a recipe for paella and sangria) as a token of my deep appreciation. It's all I have to offer in return.**

**Kristi28 is my beta and Scarecrow. I am forever grateful for her friendship and betaliciousness!**

**My Lioness, LilSis, and craftiest bone I know, makes the OLR blog look so pretty, you can find it here: http:// ****dsrubyslippers (dot) livejournal (dot) com/** **All kinds of fun OLR tidbits can be found there. She also hosted my read along last night! Thank you, Sis!**

**Thank you to our resident wussperv, unconditionally, for our OLR wussperv rating system.**

**My Oz posse (Kristi28, laurasfirsttime, jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, unconditionally, and jslack) are a fabulous group of women, and fantastic friends.**

**Last week, I extended a very special thank you is owed to Edwardia Maven, who went through every word I've written with a very particular British eye. I adore her, and she makes this fic so much better! As I mentioned last update, I remain incredibly grateful. Another OLR reader also earlier contributed their English eye to reading OLR. Thank you to spannieren who also gave OLR an earlier read through! OLR is better because of both of your contributions.**

**My do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for this week is: An Introduction to Swirl and Daisy by m8110. I adore this sweet little fic. It delights me. Don't miss it!**

**MrsTheKing is hosting a nightly read along that is just great fun! Learn about it at: **http:// theficbridge** (dot) blogspot (dot) com/**

**I will be participating in MrsTheKing's Reader Appreciation Day on Sunday, February 28****th****, so you will be receiving a double dose of OLR on that day. That will be your next update!**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	10. Chapter 9: Spies Like Us

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 9 is: ****a glowing 98% with 2% off for mentions of a dead Renee and Jake. ****This chapter is 98****% wussperv safe and approved.**

BPOV

I pay the taxi driver as he unloads my gear. Ever helpful, Mike Newton appears out of nowhere with an eager smile, and helps me lug my bags into the hanger. Uncharacteristically, I am the last to arrive at the airstrip hanger. Mike helps me drop my luggage near Angela for check-in, gives me that hopeful, boy-next-door smile, and trots off to help James. I chuckle and shake my head at his earnestness. _Clearly, Boy Wonder has not heard that I am soon to be off the market._

I check my gear with Angela who is orchestrating the entire operation like a maestro. She is magical when it comes to managing logistics. I marvel at her efficiency. That and she is absolutely unparalleled in her skill at herding cats without them even realizing they are being herded. Make no mistake, we are the cats in this scenario.

I notice Alice across the way. She is positively vibrating with excitement, and on the verge of levitating. I have no doubt that she could make it to the U.K. on her own steam sans aircraft. She is literally walking on air. _At any moment our Edna E. Mode is going to sprout wings like fucking Tinkerbelle, I just know it._ I exchange a knowing look with Emmett who seems as if his phone has been surgically attached to his ear this morning. It is clear that he finally got around to spilling the beans about Jasper Whitlock, and his role in our mission. He rolls his eyes at me. Without uttering a word, his look says: _Relax, Swan. She's a big girl. She'll be fine. _I roll my eyes and glare back at him in return as if to say: _If you value the family jewels, you'd better be right about that, McCarty! _Of course, Emmett shakes his head at me, chuckles under his breath, and returns his attention to his phone conversation. I return my attention to Alice who looks like she might explode with happiness as she oversees the loading of crate after crate and box after box. _Lord-only-knows-what she's packed for this clusterfuck_.

The hanger hums with pre-flight activity. I survey the rest of the crew. Everyone is efficiently moving through final inspections, and pre-boarding details. As usual, Emmett is all business: corralling the troops; talking loudly into his phone, clearly confirming details for our arrival with the Brits; and, making sure that everyone is sorted and ready to go. Mike and James are shepherding our weapons and munitions, while Eric and Ben hover over the computers and other IT equipment. Angela, clearly in her element, is supervising all of them effortlessly. It's not often that the Company sends this large a contingent on an extended assignment. This is quite an unusual and impressive operation.

I feel a bit at loose ends with nothing specific to busy myself. _I can't believe I've agreed to participate in this fuckery_. I finger the silver chain around my neck, and find the wedding band and engagement ring I strung from the chain and placed around my neck this morning. _If I'm going to do this, I'm doing it my way, and on my own terms. That means you're coming with me, Jake. _I found the rings when I was cleaning out Jake's house, and packing up his stuff after his death. I don't know when, or how, but Jake was planning to propose, and never had the chance. I couldn't bear to part with the rings when I disposed of the rest of Jake's stuff. _At least, now, the rings will get some use. _That thought makes me smile to myself.

The rings are not the only armor I've armed myself with for this mission. Uncharacteristically, I am wearing my charm bracelet that now holds charms from both Jake and Alice. I also packed Jake's pajamas, and threw a favorite picture of Jake and me from one of our training stints at The Farm into the bottom of my carry-on bag. Overkill, perhaps, but I am definitely venturing way outside my comfort zone on this one, and Emmett knows it. _Best to head into the unknown well-armed, and send a clear message from the outset_. I know that Mike and Alice have me covered with all the weapons and other tools I will need in the field for this op, but this particular ammunition will serve me in closer combat should the need arise.

Suddenly, I feel the need to be grounded by something familiar, something known. I pull out my phone and hit three on the speed dial. My father and I had been playing phone tag all week, and I didn't want to leave the country without talking to him. As the phone rings, I am willing him to pick up this time. I exhale a huge sigh of relief when I hear his familiar baritone.

"Swan here."

"Hi Dad. You're a difficult man to get a hold of!"

"Bells! I would say that runs in the family! How are you doing, sweetheart? Seth mentioned that you have a big assignment overseas?"

"Yeah, our company is doing a bit of consulting abroad. I'm actually at the airport. I'm leaving within the hour, but I didn't want to leave without touching base."

"I'm glad you called. How long will you be away this time?"

"I'm not sure when I'll be back in the states, but I will keep you posted. This will be a long assignment, though. I could be out of the country for as long as a year."

Eager to deflect his attention from me and my upcoming mission before the duration sinks in, I continue, "Enough about me, how are things with you? Anything new in your life?" I can't help but bait Charlie a little. He has been keeping quite a big secret from me, so I figure a little torture is well-earned.

I hear him sputter; sure that he's spit his coffee across the room, "That little punk. What did he tell you?"

I laugh in response. "Go easy on Seth, Dad. It's not some big secret, is it? I'm really glad you've found someone. It's been a long time. You deserve to be happy. Sue is a wonderful woman."

"Yes, she is, Bells. Thank you for that. You know, I know I'm usually not one for dispensing parental wisdom, but try not to be like your old dad in all ways, okay? You deserve to be happy, too. Don't let thirty years fly by being closed off to possibilities like I did."

"Yeah, yeah. I hear you, Dad." I wrap one arm around my middle feeling the twinge of that old wound. I wonder what he would say if he only knew that I'd be a newlywed in forty-eight hours or less. I'm guessing his tune would change.

"I'm just sayin'…if I can find someone…find happiness after all these years, then surely there is someone out there for you too."

For some unfathomable reason, I am suddenly assaulted by a flash of emerald eyes, wild dark bronze hair, and that panty-dropping smirk. I shake my head to dispatch the offending image.

"Bells?"

"I'm here, Dad."

I can tell Charlie is feeling uncomfortable with his uncharacteristic dispensing of fatherly advice, and he quickly changes the subject, "Sue has been after me to tell you about us, and to get you out here for a visit."

"As soon as I'm back in the states, I promise." I make eye contact with Emmett who seems to be preparing to start our pre-flight briefing. "Dad, I have a meeting before I head out. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Take care of yourself, Bells."

"I always do."

At that, my dad chuckles, "You are your father's daughter, aren't you?"

"You know it, Dad."

Charlie, never one to be a man of many words, or one for long goodbyes, clears his throat as if choked up, "Well then, you call, text, or email when you can. I love you, kid."

At that, I feel a familiar lump in my throat as well, "I will. I love you too, Dad."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Emmett gathers us together, and issues final instructions before we board for our flight. According to Emmett, upon arrival, we will be ushered to our living quarters, and will be given time to get settled, catch a few hours sleep, and freshen up before attending our first briefing with the MI6 team that we will be working with for the foreseeable future. _I, however, will quite literally be meeting my new ball and chain: more likely, the albatross that will likely weigh me down throughout this entire fucking operation._ I can't help but be a little distracted and disengaged. I have the oddest sense of foreboding that I cannot seem to shake. _What is up with me? Usually, it is Alice who is tapped into her sixth sense._

The eight hour flight is surprisingly uneventful. I manage to doze off and on throughout the flight, but wake no more rested or at ease than when I boarded the plane eight hours earlier. To conceal our team's arrival, we arrive at a private airstrip outside London, and are whisked along with our carry-ons into a series of dark, unmarked passenger vans with tinted windows while our considerable freight is commandeered into another series of cargo vans.

Unlike most commercial flights from the U.S., we arrive at 2330 hrs to further conceal our arrival, and give us an opportunity to get some rest before meeting with the MI6 team the following morning. The thirty-five minute drive into London passes quickly. Oddly, the foggy late night drizzle reminds me of home on the Olympic Peninsula, and comforts me.

We pull into an underground garage, and unload. Emmett hands everyone in the team, but me, a key, and quips, "Swan, you won't be here long enough to justify the rent, so you'll be bunking with Weber when you are in London at least at the outset of this operation."

I nod in response knowing that Alice will be needing every inch of her flat to recreate her lair. Not to mention should things go as she's obviously hoping, three would definitely be crowd in Alice's flat. Angela will be a thoughtful and considerate roommate, and if what I suspect is true, she is likely to be off with Ben exploring London when not on duty, which should work out well for me for as long as I'm in town.

Emmett continues explaining to the team that each key is to a furnished apartment that will be both home and an alternate base of operations while here. He also hands us two key cards: one, he says, is to a gym on the property, and the second is for our access to MI6 headquarters. He further explains that we are located at St. George Wharf near Vauxhall Station and convenient to MI6 headquarters. Angela chimes in and adds that the rest of our gear would be delivered in the morning as labeled. Some would be delivered to our space at MI6 headquarters, and the rest would be delivered to each of our flats. Angela would personally oversee the delivery after our morning briefing.

Emmett clears his throat, and turns serious. "It is critical that we keep this operation under wraps. As such, we will all be traveling to and from MI6 headquarters in these vans and entering through their secure underground entrance until otherwise notified. This arrangement will likely loosen once we have Swan in the field with her MI6 counterpart. Until I notify you otherwise, all of you will use these vans and the underground entrances to travel to and from MI6 headquarters. We'll be leaving here at 0915 hrs tomorrow morning. I suggest that we all quickly get settled and get some rest. Tomorrow, the real work begins!"

Less than eight hours later, we are back in the underground garage beneath our new home and headquarters ready to be shuttled from St. George Wharf to Vauxhall Cross. In the time that passed, everyone settled into their new digs, unpacked a bit, caught a few hours sleep, freshened up, and had a bite to eat in the nicely stocked kitchens that our English hosts had graciously left for us. Unfortunately, decent coffee and ingredients to make my morning smoothie were conspicuously absent. Lack of caffeine and B-12 do nothing to improve my mood. On the bright side, as I suspected, Angela and I quickly settled into a comfortable and harmonious routine as roommates.

Ever the responsible leader, Emmett ushers us into two vans, and we are shuttled from one underground parking garage to another. Once the vans are parked and we all file out, I notice that Emmett is shaking hands with a tall, fair, devastatingly handsome man with silvery-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a disarming smile. There's something about him that is familiar, but I cannot place it. Before I know it, we are shepherded into two elevators without any formal introductions being made. Once the elevator arrives at the appointed floor, we are unceremoniously led through a series of corridors passing rows of offices and cubes into a large conference room where a group of men and one breathtakingly beautiful blonde woman appear to be waiting for us. _This must be what fucking beef cattle feel like as they are being led to the slaughter. _

Before the blonde Adonis who seems to be running this show can speak to begin introductions, the blonde bombshell mutters coolly under her breath, "It would appear that news of the economic downturn in America was grossly exaggerated seeing as valuable taxpayer resources could be spared for such an extensive entourage for our little expedition. American budgets must still be overflowing to support such a large contingent to work with us for such an extended mission abroad. How lovely for all of us."

_Whoa, Nellie, and so the butchering begins. Apparently, Butcher Barbie is intent on grounding us all into meat pies like Sweeny Todd's Mrs. Lovett_.

Emmett clears his throat, and smiles his ten thousand megawatt, panty-dropping smile, and quips back, "Well, I suppose that is why the U.S. is THE world superpower. We stand and deliver even in the most unfavorable circumstances."

_Way to melt that ice princess and her frosty drawers, Em! _I'm not sure how I manage to not bust out laughing at that little retort.

Without missing a beat the ice princess matches Emmett's dazzling smile with one her own, and quips back, "Nothing like whipping it right out there, and laying it on the table, now is there? That seems a bit like a middle-aged man driving a fancy sports car, does it not? Insecure about something, Special Agent McCarty?"

_Damn. Barbie has fangs and she knows how to use them. Farmboy may be in over his head with this one!_

"Rosalie." The Adonis admonishes as he gestures for all of us to sit, and we each take a seat.

I hazard a glance at Emmett who still looks a bit shell-shocked from that last exchange.

As Blondie and Em are finishing their proverbial pissing match, an entirely different drama is unfolding at the other end of the conference room. Alice is in an unbreakable eye lock with a tall, blonde drink of water who can only, possibly be Jasper Whitlock in the flesh. _Damn. Captain Handsome, indeed. No wonder Edna has been pining away for this man for years. I'd pine too if a man looked at me the way Captain Handsome is staring down Alice. _He is clearly undressing her with his eyes, and I could swear she is giving him a fucking blowjob with her own eyes. _Damn, you two, get a motherfucking room, already._ I chuckle to myself thinking as soon as this briefing is over it is abundantly clear that they will very likely be doing just that. I breathe a sigh of relief. At least that is one less thing I have to worry about with this mission. Good for her: _Go Alice_.

Scanning the crowd I can't help but wonder which of them is slated to be my better half as it were. Unfortunately, I don't see anyone who at first glance seems remotely capable of keeping up. _Nothing like having to drag dead weight along for the ride. As I said: albatross. Fuck. My. Life._

With an aplomb that somehow reminds me of Mr. Roark on Fantasy Island, Adonis interrupts my attempts at sizing up our collaborators, welcomes us and makes his introductions, "I am Carlisle Cullen, and I will be the senior backstop on this operation."

_Holy Hell! That is the Thieving Tsunami's father. No wonder he looked familiar. I am face-to-face with the man who sired that green-eyed monster. Holy Mother of Fuck! Things just keep getting curiouser and curiouser. Now all we need is the fucking Cheshire Cat to appear grinning from ear to fucking ear._

Gesturing to the blonde bombshell and Emmett, Senior Agent-in-Charge Cullen continues, "Special Agent, Rosalie Hale, will be co-leading this operation on behalf of MI6 along with Special Agent, Emmett McCarty who will be co-leading the operation on behalf of our American friends. Let's take few moments to go around the room and introduce ourselves and our tactical functions. You will all be working quite closely together for the foreseeable future, so it is important that you all get on well together, and start off on the right foot."

I see Carlisle make a point of looking directly at Rosalie and then at Emmett as our resident boy scout steps up to begin the introductions. The introductions continue with each member of the two teams introducing themselves and sharing their particular area of expertise. I suddenly feel like I've been airdropped into one of those corporate retreats where everyone winds up chanting the lyrics to In-A-Godda-Da-Vida, breaking boards like karate black belts, and walking on a bed of hot coals by the end of the week. Just as I'm not sure whether I can possibly endure one moment more, the door to the conference room opens, and before I know it, someone has breezed in and slid into the seat beside me.

I look to my left, annoyed at whomever managed to waltz into the meeting so egregiously late, and am stunned to be staring into the deepest, greenest eyes in existence. _Those eyes. It can't be._ I gasp in shock as my eyes focus, and I'm greeted with that familiar smirk: the very same smirk that taunted me the night of the Volturi gala, and the very same smirk that has haunted my dreams and nightmares ever since that night in Abu Dhabi.

I feel my heart simultaneously jump out of my chest, and sink into my gut involuntarily turning to a puddle of goo. I can't even think about what is happening between my thighs. _Puddle of goo, indeed._ _Damn my traitorous body!_ I blink in astonishment. _Edward-Fucking-Cullen_. _Thieving-Fucking-Tsunami_. _What the ever-loving fuck is he doing here?_ I cannot believe my eyes, and utter albeit a little too loudly, "No motherfucking way."

He chuckles in response, and leans closer so only I can hear him, "Charming. Tell me, do you kiss your mum with that mouth?"

Once again, I blink in astonishment._ Who the hell does he think he is? What an arrogant asshat! Two can play that game, Agent Buttmunch_. Without missing a beat I reply, "Actually, no. I do not. My mother is dead."

With that retort, he straightens in his seat looking sufficiently chastised.

My mind reels trying to process what is afoot here, and the introductions reach the green-eyed monster to my left, and I cannot believe my ears as he introduces himself as Special Agent Edward Cullen who describes his expertise as a field agent, and introduces himself as the blushing bridegroom with the smuggest, most self-satisfied smirk in the known universe. _Speak of the fucking Cheshire Cat and he shall appear. Fuck me. Hard. Twice. From Behind. No Motherfucking Reach Around_. With that I feel my face flame red with anger. _You have got to be fucking kidding me. This cannot be happening. _

I shoot Emmett a glance that is a likely a cross between murderous and panicked. His response tells me I'd better pull it together and maintain my composure. Suddenly all eyes are on me, and everyone is now waiting for me. I am the last to introduce myself. Somehow I make it through the introduction, and manage to elicit a laugh from all when I refer to myself as the not-so-blushing bride.

Just as I breathe a sigh of relief thinking that no one would dare point out that I am, quite ironically, blushing seemingly from head to toe, the little hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention as I feel his breath on the back of my neck like the gentlest of caresses. Before I can possibly respond, I hear, "Funny, for one who claims that she is a not-so-blushing bride, that lovely shade of pink that tinges your skin at the moment would suggest otherwise."

I feel the blush deepen as my ire flares again. _How dare he? Who the hell does he think he is anyway?_ I lean back, and whisper just as softly into his ear trying not to be distracted by how positively delicious he smells, "Well, I would be careful about making assumptions, English. In America, we have a saying about people who make assumptions." I stop there. _Let him ask Jasper what the fucking expression is_. I cannot continue; I'm too angry. That, and if I don't put some distance between us, I'm going to need to find a change of panties somewhere.

The rest of the briefing passes in a blur. I am consumed with thoughts of getting Emmett alone and ripping him a new one. _He cannot possibly expect me to go undercover in the field with this smug, self-satisfied, sloppy, careless, arrogant-assed motherfucker. He simply cannot expect that. That assmunch will surely get us both killed_.

Cullen, Sr. finally adjourns the meeting, and I honestly could not tell you anything that transpired after Mr. Bronze Fuck-me Hair introduced himself as the blushing bridegroom. Cullen Jr. turns to me as if to begin a conversation, but I am having none of it. I stand and brush past him making a beeline for Emmett.

Before Emmett can begin a conversation with Cullen Sr. and the bombshell, I ambush him. "Emmett, I need to speak to you in private. Now."

Emmett nods, and turns to Rosalie and asks her if there is an office where we could meet briefly. Rosalie escorts us two doors down to her to her office and closes the door as she leaves.

"Emmett, did you know about this?"

"I had no idea, B."

"You cannot expect me to be imbedded in the field with that careless, arrogant-assed motherfucker! This elevates the term hostile work environment to a whole different dimension."

"All your work environments are hostile, Swan. That whining isn't gonna fly with me. We are committed here. Do you really want to ruin your career over this, Bella?"

"That's a low blow, Em."

"It may be low, but it's the truth and you know it. Cullen is the agent the Brits have chosen for this op, and you are our choice. You have two choices: you can get on this train and ride it out, or you can blow up the tracks, and in essence, a very distinguished young career. However, be forewarned, if you choose the latter, there will be nothing I can do to help you. The choice is yours, B."

Sufficiently chastised, I exhale, "Message received, Special Agent McCarty. I'll just have to endure it."

**a/n –**

**Important Note: There will be two OLR updates this week in support of MrsTheKing's Reader Appreciation Day on February 28th. The Twilighted updates will likely be staggered, but both chapters will go up on on the 28th. In addition, there will also be a one-shot in the OLR universe posted that day that will be submitted for the Hidden Mask Challenge. It won't be posted before then, because it will give too much away, and you'll want to read chapters 9 and 10 first.**

**As ever, Kristi28 minds my p's and q's as my beta and Scarecrow. laura'sfirsttime, my ficsis is the OLR blog Mistress, you can find it here: http:// dsrubyslippers (dot) livejournal (dot) com/ All kinds of fun OLR tidbits can be found there. Unconditionally, is our resident wussperv for our OLR wussperv rating system. I adore each of you.**

**Edwardia Maven has spent countless hours going through every word I've written with her very particular British eye, and keeps me well sorted in all things English! I am so grateful for the countless hours she's frittered away with me, her unending patience, and fast friendship.**

**My Oz posse (Kristi28, laurasfirsttime, jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, unconditionally, and jslack) are the best pre-readers in the Fandom. I feel fortunate to call you friends.**

**Creating OLR takes a village! OLR is better because of your input and contributions**

**My do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for this week is: Do You Wanna Take a Ride With Me by stephk525. It's a saucy little tale that is deliciously citrusy from the first chapter, and funny. This one knows how to bring the funny which I enjoy.**

**There will be more information on the next updates on February 28th.**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	11. Chapter 10: Enigma

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 10 is: ****97% with 3% due to miscellaneous mentions of dead people. ****This chapter is 97****% wussperv safe and approved.**

BPOV

Less than five minutes after Emmett soundly handed me my ass, we rejoin the group in the large conference room.

_I need to hit something. Hard. Repeatedly._ I scan the room and make a beeline for Newton.

Using my most beguiling approach, I attack, "Mike?"

"Uhh….Hey Bella, what's up?"

"I'd really like to get some sparring in today. Are you game?"

Eager as a puppy whose been offered a liver treat, he responds, "Absolutely. Do we have a training space?"

"We do. Apparently, there is that gym adjacent to our flats that is not yet opened to the public, but is available for use for the duration. Angela mentioned that there's a room we can use there. What do you say?"

Like a lamb to the slaughter, Mike nods, "You've got it, Bella. Let's do it."

I chuckle and nod. _Like taking fucking candy from a baby,_ "Let's see if we can get a ride back to our digs."

Mike nods and I head back to Emmett.

Emmett is in deep conversation with the green-eyed monster's sire when I sidle up next to him. They are discussing the best way to transport weapons commercially given the new security protocols following the recent terror threats: no doubt, preparing for our departure. They both turn and look at me. Emmett eyes me suspiciously after the exchange we've just shared down the hall. I know he's worried that I'm not going to play nice. _Nothing wrong with messing with his head just a little bit, is there?_ It's so much fun that I can't resist.

I bury the lead and offer, "I'd like to prepare a team dinner, Em. The kitchen in Angela's and my place is modest, at best, but rumor has it that you are in a penthouse with more spacious accommodations and a gourmet kitchen. Can we host it there?"

Emmett sheepishly chuckles and nods, "Well, we needed a space that could hold us all for team meetings, and serve as a secondary base of operations." _It's astounding what can be justified under the guise of safeguarding national security_. Shaking his head, and never one to turn down a meal, especially not one that I've cooked, he continues, "As for dinner…absolutely, B. What's cookin'?"

"I thought I'd do some Spanish tapas and paella if I can find the ingredients around town. I need to find a good market that has a decent section for ethnic ingredients, a good place for seafood, and pick up a couple of large paella pans, though. Normally, I'd hope to hit the local farmers' markets, but it is unlikely that they will have what I need this time of year."

Carlisle smiles and jumps in, "I think you will find Edward particularly helpful there. He will be delighted to escort you to the local markets, and help you find what you need, I'm sure."

_Damn. What dazzling primordial goo is swimming in that Cullen gene pool? That brand of pretty is quite simply not even remotely in the realm of being right. Then again, some things are so wrong that they are so very, very right. Okay Bella, a career is at stake here, namely mine. I'm going to have to play nice, and fucking act like I like it. What is that saying they use over here: something about laying still and taking one for the queen? Taking one for ol' Uncle Sam just doesn't exactly have the same ring to it, does it? That and I'll bet ol' Uncle Sam is hung like a horse. Have you seen his feet in those pictures? Hi Ho, Silver! What is wrong with me? I definitely need to get out more. Fuck. My. Life._

I find my eyes wandering across the room and sneak a peek at the other undeniably gorgeous Cullen in the room. I can't help but eye him head to toe._ Speaking of big feet…Holy Hell! Head in the game, Bella. _Just then, he catches me ogling him shamelessly. _Oooops. So much for playing it cool. Smooth, real smooth, Bella._ In response, he has the audacity to break into a crooked-assed grin and wink at me. _That motherfucker just winked at me, and my knees may or may not have felt like they were going to give out on me for the briefest of moments. Hello veins, get that ice water pumping, stat! Damn traitorous body! Damn Thieving Tsunami!_

I shake it off, turn and smile at the gorgeous specimen next to me. _And so it begins._ Ever the dutiful agent who values her career, I chime, "That's great, Carlisle. Thank you. That will be terrific. I hope you will make sure that all of the MI6 team knows that they are welcome, and will hopefully join us!"

Carlisle's smile broadens, "That is very kind of you, Bella. I will be sure to let them know, and we will be certain to let you know which of us will be available to join you, so you can plan accordingly. Hopefully, all of our team will be available to join the festivities. This would be a good team building opportunity for both camps. We are, after all, operating as one team for the foreseeable future."

I smile, nod, and turn to Emmett, "Em, before I head out to prepare for our little soirée, I would like to get in some sparring time. Newton is game, but we need a space. Upon our arrival in London, I vaguely remember you mentioning something about a gym that is not yet open to the public. Do you think we could get a ride back to our digs and access to those facilities?"

"Absolutely, B. There is also a full range of equipment there, including treadmills if you'd like to get in a run. I know how cranky you get when you don't get your run in!" _Fucker. Why does he feel it necessary to point that shit out? Men! _"Oh, and B, I think you'll be needing this, won't you?" He pulls out the key to his penthouse. He hands it to me, and I nod in response.

With that, he flips open his phone and makes a call. After a moment, he continues, "A van will be ready for you, Newton, and anyone else who needs to go. I expect that Weber, Yorkie and Hudson will want to get back to oversee the delivery of their gear. Cheney will likely want to hang out here, and get the lay of the land and get to know the MI6 commnt folks. He and I will bring the second van back later."

Carlisle chimes in, "I'll send Edward over after a bit to fetch you. He will be more than happy to accompany you on your shopping expedition."

I smile and nod, "Thank you both. I hope to see you tomorrow night for dinner. Let's shoot for dinner at 1930 hours. We'll start with tapas and sangria."

With Emmett still clearly puzzled by my complete about-face, I turn and walk away looking for Newton, so we can get out of here, because I really, really need to hit something. Hard. Repeatedly.

EPOV

_Brilliant, Cullen. Bloody Brilliant. Way to make a smashing second impression._ Stunned, I ogle that delectable backside as she walks away from me without saying a single bloody word. She just turns and strides off. Before I know it, she, Rosalie, and the head American bloke, McCarty, are headed out the door. I am tempted to follow them, but think better of it. Killing time, I chat up the seemingly sweet, bespectacled girl sitting to my left until the Yank commnt chap turns up beside her clearly staking his claim to which the sweet Angela seems completely oblivious. I excuse myself and stand, not wishing to intrude on them any longer. _Wouldn't want him to whip out his willy and piss on her to make his point, after all_.

Just then, I notice Beauty has returned and is chatting up the bloke who looks a bit like he might have stepped off the set of "_Generation Kill_." _I can tell that wanker is going to annoy me like a red rag to a bull. I can just feel it_. Next, Beauty chats up my father and McCarty. He hands her a key. _What's that about?_ Before I can be too distracted by the key, surprisingly, I catch the little minx eyeing me up and down. I treat her with a smile, a wink, and a slight nod, and she promptly turns on her heels and leaves with Mister Commando. It all unfolds before I can process it. _What just happened here?_

It's true. I probably shouldn't have led with the bit about her mother. _That was a royal cock-up_. I'd read the dossier. I knew her mum and stepdad had been murdered when she was just a girl, and that she had found their bodies. That type of trauma creates deep wounds. I should know. If only that was the half of it. Of course, in Beauty's case, it isn't nearly.

I notice the team starting to splinter off. Three of the Yanks head off shortly after Beauty and GI Joe, while Crowley and O'Shea trail behind them. Whitlock and his charming siren slip out unnoticed by anyone other than me. Then, it's clear that another meeting is convening among the head Yank, Rosalie, Jenks, and the bespectacled Angela. It is immediately clear that they are setting up details for our cover and field assignment.

Just as I'm about to take a seat to join them, my father slaps me on the shoulder, and says, "Not so fast, I have another assignment for you." Before he can continue his mobile rings, and he sighs, "I have to take this call. Let's step out into the hall."

Dad is quickly immersed in deep discussion with someone about the Embassy in Yemen, and I find myself listening to the discussion evolving on the other side of the conference room door that we left slightly ajar. Apparently, they have decided to start with assigning code names for Bella and me, because I hear Angela calling for suggestions.

Rosalie offers, "How about lion and lamb?"

Albeit, presumably for very different reasons, this makes both McCarty and I snicker. The Yank counters, "Who is the lion and who is the lamb in this scenario, Hale?" To which, through the crack in the door I see Rosalie roll her eyes as if it isn't obvious.

McCarty replies laughing, "You obviously have no idea who you and your boy are dealing with, Hale. Bella is no more a lamb than you are. Tiger, scorpion, fox, or bear: any of those is more suitable than lamb." I can't help but laugh at how quickly he's pegged our Rosalie. It's possible that I was wrong about him. This bloke may just give ol' Rosie a run for her money.

Just then, Angela chimes in clearly feeling uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken, "Alrighty, then. Perhaps we should rethink using animals for their code names. How do you feel about movie characters?"

McCarty replies, "Like what, "Beauty and the Beast?" To which, I can't help but groan audibly.

My groan is dwarfed by Rosalie's quick retort, "You balk at lamb, but a bloody Disney princess works for you, McCarty? How utterly prosaic."

Before I can overhear the rest of their bickering, I feel my father's hand on my shoulder, and I turn and ask, "What is this assignment you have for me?"

My father clears his throat, "It appears that Agent Swan, Isabella, is hosting a dinner for the entire team tomorrow night in Agent McCarty's flat. She needs to do a bit of shopping, and this would be a good opportunity for the two of you to get better acquainted."

I nod in reply. I am surprised, pleased, and curiously relieved. _Hmmm…perhaps that is why he gave her that key_. "Right then, where does she need to go?"

"She mentioned something about a large market, possibly a fish market, and a special pan…nothing you can't handle, son. She went to get in some training time over at St. George Wharf. I'm guessing you'll find her at the gym there. You know it, right? The public opening has been delayed, and the Americans have use of it while they are here."

"I do. Is she expecting me?"

"Not as such, but I did offer your services, and she did graciously accept. Be sure to cover all the expenses for the dinner. It's the least we can do, since she… since they have been so gracious as to host us in our own backyard. Don't keep her waiting, and remember how important this is for all of us, will you?"

"Of course."

"Oh, and Edward."

"Yes, Dad?"

"Your mother will still be expecting to have you both over to the house before you set off, so do keep that in mind."

"Is that absolutely necessary, Dad?"

"You know your mother, and you should know to not even ask that question."

"Very well. I'll be in touch." With that, I nod and head off to drive Miss Daisy.

BPOV

Thirty minutes later, Newton and I are in an exercise room in the gym that Angela has evidently commandeered for our private use for the duration. Using jujitsu precision, I am kicking the ever-loving shit out of him.

I am a jujitsu second degree black belt, and have mastered eight of the eighteen ninjutsu skills. During undergrad, I trained with a revered Japanese master who retired to the Olympic Peninsula, and could give even the most ruthless ninja a run for his money. He never admitted it, but I suspect my teacher made his fortune as a modern-day mercenary and ninja. Make no mistake, Mike is a highly skilled, Marines-trained, second degree black belt in jujitsu in his own right, and he has also studied several of the eighteen ninjutsu skills. He's a well-matched sparring partner. Nevertheless, poor Mike doesn't have a chance against me today despite his size advantage and skill level. My fury fuels me. For all intents and purposes, I am in ninja-mode, and I will not fail.

After a lengthy and punishing beating, Mike holds up his hands in defeat. Sated by the kill, I offer Newton a hand and pull him to his feet. We both grab towels and mop our brows, and I notice a shadowy presence observing us from a dark corner of the room.

"Brava. I wasn't sure whether you would let him live." the shadowy figure seductively coos as he claps slowly and rhythmically.

Feeling frisky, I offer, "Care to have a go? I'll go easy on you, I promise."

Chuckling, the voice replies, "Another time, perhaps. The clock is ticking, and we have markets to canvass. How quickly can you be ready?"

Mopping the sweat from the back of my neck I reply, "Give me fifteen, and I'll be ready to go." To Mike, I add, "Thanks for the workout, Mike. I'll catch you later, okay?"

Mike surveys the shadowy figure skeptically, nods, and offers me the old fist bump. _Typical Mike. Always the good sport._ I take it, and he responds, "Sure thing, Bella. Anytime."

I notice he's limping slightly as he heads off to the locker room, and I chuckle. _Poor Mike. I should go easier on him next time_.

With that, I head off for the flat to shower and change, not letting any grass grow under my feet. I turn and watch as the self-proclaimed blushing bridegroom stands in the shadows seemingly at a loss. _Oh, this could be fun_. "Are you coming, English? I thought you were in a big ol' hairy rush to get your shop on! Let's bail."

With that, the Thieving Tsunami looks surprised and begins to follow me, "I don't believe I understood a word you just said, but alright then. Are we leaving now?"

"Are you sure that you're an Oxford grad, English? Keep up. I need to shower and change, but I'm not going to leave you down here lurking in the shadows like Barnabas Collins. Let's go."

"Barnabas who?"

"Barnabas Collins. Dark Shadows. Vampire. Were you raised under a rock, English?"

"No, Ducky. West London. Not terribly far from here, actually, in Holland Park."

_Ducky? What the ever-loving fuck? Did he seriously just call me ducky…as in the ugly-fucking-duckling? What'd he think…a kid named Bella Swan wouldn't have ever heard that one growing up? I suppose he thinks he's Eddie-Fucking-Izzard with that shit. Motherfucker. I was trying to be nice. Well, fuck him. It's so on._

EPOV

The ride in the lift to her flat is a bit tense. Her moods seem to be as changeable as the Queen's Guard at Buckingham Palace, but much less predictable. This may very well prove to make her an exasperating travel companion and partner. _Partner. And there it is. Bollocks!_ _I don't do partners. Yet, now, it appears that I do. I do indeed do partners, or one partner in particular. Lovely. _She is silent in the lift. Either she has taken issue with my upbringing in West London, or the lift is triggering memories of our first encounter which may be understandably unpleasant for her. I can't tell which. In fact, it may be something else entirely that has registered her inexplicably mum. Without a word she exits the lift, and makes her way to what I can only presume is her flat, and opens the door. Finally, she puts me out of my misery, and asks if I'd like something to drink. While I'd really like a spot of whisky to take the edge off, I decline and she disappears into the loo.

I peek into each of the flat's bedrooms, and realise that Beauty has a roommate. I wonder which of the team it might be. It's clear that they've not yet had a moment to settle in and make the flat their own. The rooms are still quite sterile and not quite lived-in as most places feel after a time.

In what I quickly deduce clearly must be Bella's room, I notice a framed picture of Bella and a young, handsome, russet-skinned bloke who must be the Native American operative that was mentioned in her dossier. _So, this is Jacob Black_. They are smiling, looking happy and relaxed. Clearly, they are very close. _Lovers, perhaps? This, the dossier did not mention, but looking at them now, I wonder. However, his grin is particularly wolfish suggesting a certain familiarity._ I feel an inexplicable twinge of jealousy at the sight of Beauty resting so happily in the arms of this young wolf.

The dossier said that they grew up together in the state of Washington. They were childhood friends turned partners at one of the subsidiaries of our American counterpart. The dossier did provide quite a curious amount of detail about Black's upbringing, background, tribal affiliation, and their early friendship through their days at university. However, the dossier is peculiarly silent on their personal relationship once they were recruited, and I suddenly find this maddening. I cannot help but be driven to distraction by the question of whether Beauty and this…this pup were merely friends and colleagues, or something more than that. _Ahhh well, best not to speak ill of the dead._

I hear a noise, so I quickly return the frame to its perch on the bureau and quietly return to the front room. Bella emerges from the loo clad only in a towel, and using another towel to dry her long, damp, mahogany locks, and she takes my breath away once again. _She may quite possibly be the single-most intoxicating creature that I've ever encountered, and let's face it, I've encountered more than my fair share. _

Standing opposite me, still toweling her hair seemingly oblivious to the fact that she is essentially naked and barefoot before me, Bella queries, "So, where are we headed this afternoon?"

"Well, we aren't headed anywhere with you in nothing but that towel, not that you don't look quite fetching, mind you. Granted, the locals would quite enjoy it, but we'd very likely get hauled in for breaking a dozen different indecency laws before we hit Kensington High Street."

She tilts her head to the side, and flashes the most adorable little smirk, "Am I offending your sense of modesty and decency, English?"

I feel my throat go dry, and suddenly I'd wished I'd taken her up on that drink. _It would be really bad form to throw her up against the wall, and shag her senseless, Cullen_. "On the contrary, Ducky...there is nothing offensive about you."

Her eyes narrow inexplicably, and she tosses her damp locks over her shoulder, "Well, it's fortunate you feel that way since we will clearly be spending a lot of time together." With that, she spins on her heels, and heads into her room.

BPOV

Still laughing over the exchange with that fucking Thieving Tsunami, I make quick work of drying my hair, and to save time, I pull it back in a low ponytail, and secure it with an oval tortoise shell barrette. I open my suitcase, and pull out the first things I can find. Dressing quickly, I settle on my typical cotton bra and boy shorts, a pair of dark wash jeans, and a cream-colored, soft cotton, cable knit turtleneck. _I might as well be comfortable and warm_ _on this expedition_. I keep my make-up simple with just a little eyeliner and lip gloss. I add a pair of black trouser socks, my black boots, my charcoal trench and my favorite black, leather, cross-body travel bag, and I look at my travel alarm. I am ready to head out in twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds. I grab my charm bracelet and the silver chain holding Jake's rings from the small jewelry box I'd placed on top of the dresser. I slip them both on, sliding the rings beneath my sweater before joining Edward in the living room.

He's staring out the window at who knows what, clearly lost in thought and oblivious to me standing behind him. For the first time today, I notice just how handsome a silhouette he strikes. He is just as striking as the first time I laid eyes on him in that elevator at Emirates Palace Hotel in Abu Dhabi. This is a truth I cannot deny. Today, however, in lieu of a designer, obviously hand –tailored tuxedo, he is sporting very well fitting charcoal gray trousers that clearly show off, what I must admit is, his singularly spectacular ass to its best advantage. His crisp white cotton shirt is open at the collar, and he has discarded the silk tie he was sporting earlier. Predictably, his navy, worsted-wool blazer, and khaki trench are slung neatly over the sofa. _You can take the boy out of public school, but you can't take the public school out of the boy, can you?_

Unable to resist the opportunity, I sneak up behind him, form my hand into a pistol that points straight into his side, and whisper in his ear, "Boo! Gotcha! Don't make a move!" I feel him startle ever so slightly which makes me chuckle to myself. "What kind of operative are you? You didn't even see me coming."

He spins on me, and his proximity throws me causing me to lose my balance momentarily. He grabs both of my forearms to steady me, leans in close, and whispers in reply, "Ahhh…perhaps I sensed you were coming, and merely wished to draw you in. That is what the best predators do, is it not?"

Suddenly I am feeling a bit dizzy, and very aware of how close he is: his voice, his face, his scent. I swallow audibly and counter, "And you count yourself among the best predators, Special Agent Cullen?" _Fucking Thieving Tsunami! Of all the smug, arrogant-assed…_

His green eyes take on a sparkle, his smile widens, and he leans in even closer, "Oh, among the very best, Special Agent Swan. Of course, it does take one to know one, does it not?"

_Veins. Ice water. Head in the game, Bella. _"Yes, I suppose it does. Funny that, because I'm not the least bit frightened of you."

Edward clears his throat, cocks his eyebrow, and counters, "After that display with Captain America down in the gym, I can't say that sentiment is entirely mutual."

"Liked that, did you? Well then, you'll just have to show me what you've got, English. Let's hunt!" With that, I flash him my widest smile; break free from his grasp and turn to head for the door.

I look back over my shoulder, and am amused to see that his dazzling smile is gone, and he's wearing that peculiar bewildered expression again. "Hunt?" he inquires.

Feigning exasperation while nearly unable to conceal my amusement, I sigh dramatically, "Yes. Hunt…as in hunting and gathering? I do wish you would keep up."

With that, he quirks his head to the side, "Well, it would be much easier to _keep up_, as you put it, if you actually spoke proper English."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "Are you seriously going to pull the whole two nations separated by a common language bit? Seriously? I thought we were on a schedule here. We clearly do not have time for that, today. Do we? Are you taking me shopping, or aren't you, English?"

He shakes his head, quickly slides into his blazer, shrugs on his trench, and joins me at the door presumably conceding this round, "Right then. Let's hunt, as you say."

We head out, and he leads me to a late model silver Volvo, an S60r, presuming that I'm not mistaken. All those years hanging out in Jake's garage, I'd learned a thing or two about cars, and this was a car I recognized. _Well that, and honestly, this is quite unexpected. I was certain ol' T-squared would be driving one of those imported sports cars whose sticker price could feed an entire village in rural Africa for a year. His stock may have just gone up ever so slightly. _Edward opens the door for me, and holds it while I slide into the passenger seat, and I can't help but chuckle inwardly at his oh-so-proper manners. _Can I ever even remember a time when Jake opened a car door for me? Hmmmm…nope, not so much. Jake would have a field day with this one, I can just hear him. Oh hush, Jake. Just this once_.

Edward folds himself into the driver's seat, and looks over at me, "You've gone quiet again. Shall we address the elephant in the backseat now or later?"

It occurs to me that there is an entire herd of elephants in the backseat of this shiny silver Volvo, but I'm quite certain he's referring to our particular situation and the looming mission. To which, I'm suddenly feeling weary and unable to deal with those realities, I reply, "Later. Definitely later."

"Right then, where to first?"

"Well, I do need a couple of paella pans."

"Paella pans. Hmmm…I should be able to help out there. I think know just the place." With that he puts the car in gear and tears off at a breakneck pace.

"I know you said that we had a lot of ground to cover, but it would be nice to make it back in one piece."

"Don't fret. I assure you that I will return you as safe and sound as when we left your flat. Now tell me, where did you learn to toss around two-hundred pound men like rag dolls?"

I eye him skeptically, mostly to make sure he's keeping at least one eye on the road, but let the driving slide, "Nice segue there, Slick Willy. You mean, Newton? Newton is only a buck ninety, tops."

Edward sputters, "How did we go from your martial arts training to my meat and two veg?"

Puzzled, I look at him, "You cook?"

He shoots me a sideways glance, "Umm…not much. I do make a spectacular omelet. How did we get from your martial arts training to my cookery skills, or lack thereof?"

I can't help but laugh at the lunacy of it all, "I have no idea, but since you can make a _spectacular_ omelet, you're on Spanish omelet duty tomorrow night. Deal?"

"Spanish omelet? I thought you were serving paella?"

"I am serving paella. However, we will start with sangria and an assortment of tapas. I thought some stuffed piquillo peppers, manchego cheese, jamon serrano with crispy breadsticks, and chorizo would be nice…a Spanish antipasti, if you will. Spanish omelet will be a nice warm tapas to serve along with that. Then, of course there will be flan for dessert. You can make the omelet. I'll talk you through it."

"Well, that should be interesting seeing as we communicate so very well," and with that he throws the car into park. "We're here."

_Sarcastic much there, T-squared? I think his stock just inched up a wee bit more_.

We walk a few blocks to a store called Pages, and I quickly managed to find a very nice selection of pans suitable for our purpose. I select one, and Edward looks surprised, "That's a paella pan?"

"It is."

"Well, you only need to buy one of those, then."

"Excuse me?"

"Did you belch?"

"What?" I shake my head, because he is making it spin at this point, "Why do I only need one pan? It will make it too difficult to make enough food to feed everyone if I only have one pan."

"No, no…I have one of those pans at my flat."

"Really? You've made paella before?"

"No. Never."

"Then…how…why?"

"A friend stocked my kitchen when I moved house. I don't even know what half the gadgets are in that kitchen. I do, however, know that there is a pan just like that one hanging on a peg in the cupboard."

"I see." _Hmmm…must be a girlfriend. I wonder if she's still around, and if she knows that Casanova is about to set-up house, shack up, and head off to parts unknown with another woman. Purely professional, but he wouldn't be able to tell her that without blowing our cover. That must have been quite a blow-up. Things that make you go hmmm, indeed. _

"A large, never-used paella pan is hanging in one of your cabinets? Seriously, English?"

"Yes. _Seriously_, Ducky." With that, I get the distinct impression that he's purposefully mocking me.

I counter, _"_Well, may I borrow your brand new, never christened paella pan, English?"

"Of course, Ducky, of course."

With that, I've had it. "You know, it isn't particularly endearing with you effectively calling me ugly at every turn."

"Pardon?"

"That Ducky business. What's up with that? As if I hadn't heard that in elementary school! You can do better, English."

"Right then. And this English _business_?"

"Completely different. You are English."

The hint of a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. "Touché. Very well, then. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, I think that I do. I suppose we should pay for this, and get out of here."

Before I can utter a word, or realize what is happening, he takes off with the pan, me trailing behind him. He then pays for said pan, and holds the door for me to exit. _Holy Hell! What sort of bizarre and misplaced display of testosterone was that? Caveman party of one, your wildebeest is ready! _I feel my cheeks flame as my ire fuels. When we hit the sidewalk, I can contain myself no longer, "What was _that_?"

"Pardon? What was what?"

With his long strides, I find I'm nearly jogging to keep pace with him, "That, back there, in the store…with the pan, and the paying?"

"Well, you didn't expect me to nick it, did you?"

"Of course not, what would that have accomplished?" _What does his scratching a brand new two hundred dollar paella pan accomplish? Unbelievable._

"Precisely."

With that, he is, once again, holding open the passenger side door to his sensible Swedish import, and waiting for me to climb in, and I'm still not sure what just transpired. He joins me, once again, folding himself into the driver's seat, and we head off as if the streets of West London are the Autobahn.

Taking a deep breath, I begin again, "You know, I brought cash and a credit card with me. I could have paid for the pan."

"Yes, but you are doing all the work to pull together this dinner on our home soil. Technically, we should be hosting this dinner. Carlisle just wanted to make a contribution by covering the supplies and foodstuffs."

"You call your father, Carlisle?"

"Sometimes, and sometimes, I call him Dad, or Agent Cullen depending upon the situation or circumstance. What do you call your father?"

"Charlie or Dad, but mostly Charlie. Well, except to his face, and almost never Chief Swan unless I'm teasing him."

"That's right! Your dad is the police chief of that small town that you hail from in Washington State."

"Just how did you manage to acquire that information, Special Agent Cullen?" _Damn him._ _He's checked me out, and probably has a fucking fat file all about me sitting on his desk this very minute. Motherfucker!_

"You know, word gets round, particularly when one is betrothed and all."

With that, I feel my cheeks flame anew. "Hmph. I'll just bet that it does. After all, that quip about the devil you know does exist for a reason, does it not? How thick is the dossier, English?"

"Whatever are you going on about?"

With that, he once again throws the car in park and announces, "We're here!"

He quickly gets out of the car sufficiently ending the conversation, and comes around, and opens my door for me, yet again. Then, quite surprisingly, he puts his hand on the small of my back, guiding me gently but firmly, and leads me toward a large building. The next thing I know we are standing in front of a Whole Foods Market, and I can't help but smile. _Hallelujah! Something that feels like home._

He interrupts my silent reverie, "Let's see it, then."

"See, what?"

"Your hunting, prowess."

"Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet, English. You're on." With that I pull out my list, grab a shopping cart, and head off with him trailing behind me temporarily forgetting all the information that he's likely gathered and read about me. For now, I am in my element. The rest can wait.

EPOV

_What the bloody hell was I thinking spouting off inconsequential details like that? She'll skewer me alive when she sees that dossier._ The dossier is definitely going back to Carlisle first thing in the morning. Of course, this means I have a bit of studying to do tonight.

As soon as she pulls out what appears to be a shopping list, her hands grasp the trolley, and she visibly relaxes. Her face lightens and lights up as she heads off _to hunt_, as she calls it. She looks happy, and this makes her look lovelier than ever. I follow along gathering fruit and veg on her command. I am quite simply happy to do her bidding and watch her enjoy herself.

As we leave the produce section of the market, she reels on me. "What about the fish market? What is our best bet for fresh seafood and shellfish?"

I sigh, because I know she isn't going to be pleased with my answer, "Well, ideally I would take you over to Billingsgate Market, and we'd go from there. My mum knows quite a few of the purveyors, so we'd have no problem, even though they don't generally sell to the general public. However, they are only open from 0530 and 0800 hours, and it is well past that now. I imagine that tomorrow will be a full day for us, so going in the morning is not bloody likely. I recommend you consider the seafood counter here, and if that is not to your liking, then we will make alternate arrangements. There is Steve Hatt in Islington. He's also a very reputable fourth-generation fishmonger. We might be able to make a stop over there before you begin dinner."

Bella nods, "Fair enough."

Before I know it she is making a beeline for the seafood counter. She engages the fishmonger with a series of questions about the freshness and origin of the lobster tails, clams, mussels, and langoustines. After a lengthy bit of back and forth negotiation, Bella turns to me, and asks in a low voice, "Much of this has been frozen."

"And…?" I reply, not really understanding the issue.

"Well, if they don't defrost well enough in the paella, I could very well give everyone on both our teams a nasty case of food poisoning."

I nod. "Well, that won't do at all, will it?"

"Nope, not unless there's someone you have a grudge against and wish to make absolutely miserable."

I laugh in response, and usher away from the seafood counter. Leaning in close, "I whisper, we'll find a way to sneak over to Steve Hatt tomorrow. You'll have all the fresh crustacean you heart desires." I may have been mistaken, but I may have felt her shiver ever so slightly in response.

After a stint at the meat counter discussing the finer points of chorizo, selecting the perfect whole chickens, and a whirlwind trip through the rest of the aisles to gather the remaining ingredients for her menu, we have a trolley full of groceries. _Frankly, most of it makes my head spin, to be honest. _I find that I am completely enchanted by this version of my new partner, quite in spite of myself.

Surprisingly, once we finally get to the check-out, Bella doesn't wrestle me for the bill, and we manage to pay for the groceries, and get them into the Volvo without incident or argument. Before we know it, we've hauled six armloads of groceries, including the six cases of red wine, up to what Bella blithely mentions is Emmett McCarty's penthouse at St. George Wharf.

When we finally have all the groceries put away, and I see an opportunity to get Special Agent Swan onto my own turf, and I advance.

"Bella, after all that heavy lifting, I could use a pint. Are you game?"

Bella eyes me skeptically, but replies, "As a matter of fact, I could definitely use a drink to take the edge off. What do you have in mind, English?"

I smile seeing her relax, "Oh, I know a place. Shall we?"

With that, we leave Emmett McCarty's penthouse and head for the pub around the corner. After a quick walk, and a bit of small talk we reach the pub.

I open the door to the pub, and hold it for her. She smirks at the gesture, and we head in to find a seat. We settle in at the bar. I order a pint of Newcastle Brown, and turn to ask Bella what she would like. Before I can get a word out, I notice the barkeep looking Bella up and down, "And what will the lady be having?"

Bella smirks coyly, clearly baiting him, and responds, "I'll take Glenfiddich. Two fingers. Neat."

I raise my eyebrow at her. _A whisky drinker: why should this surprise me at this point. This woman is full of surprises._

The bartender smiles back at her, and quips, "Two fingers? Might I talk you into three, luv? By the looks of you, I'll bet you'd take three beautifully." _Bloody Bastard!_

Before I can intervene on Bella's behalf, she quips back, "Two will do me just fine, thanks. No need to be greedy now, is there?" With that, she winks cheekily at the bastard, looks at what must be my thoroughly scandalised look, and dissolves into a fit of laughter beside me.

I shake my head in response, "You, my dear, may quite literally be the most dangerous creature I've ever encountered, and that is quite a distinction."

a/n:

Spyspeak:

**COMMINT **– acronym for communications intelligence.

**Happy Reader's Appreciation Day, my pretties! It is my pleasure to bring you this second dose of OLR for MTK's Reader Appreciation Day!**

**By now you know that my Oz posse keeps things keeping on: Kristi28 (my beta), laurasfirsttime (OLR webmistress), unconditionally (wussperv-in-residence), and wonderful pre-readers: jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, and jslack. I adore each and every one of them.**

**Edwardia Maven, my very own British Glenda the Good (She'll likely hate that, by that way), continues to spend unending hours reviewing, and keeping me well sorted in all things British/English! Her friendship, patience and keen eye have made making OLR so, so much better, and more fun to write/publish.**

**I've not had much time to read this week, so my My do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for this week is going to be another obvious choice: University of Edward Masen. If by some weird twist of fate you are not reading this fic, you should be. It's every bit as good as all the hype.**

**Your next installment of OLR will be posted on March 14th. I'm travelling on business next week, and it will be tough to get you an update next week. If the stars align, I may surprise you with and update next weekend, but don't count on it.**

**OH! Don't forget to go to my profile, and check out the OLR one-shot that I wrote for the Hidden Mask Challenge! It is Angela's POV in the OLR universe after they've arrived in London, and reveals a few new tidbits!**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	12. Chapter 11: True Lies

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 11 is: ****99% ****wussperv safe and approved. Things will not always be so safe, warm, and fuzzy for this crew. Just sayin'.**

_*****More below (b/c I try not to do long a/ns at the beginning, but this is an exception), BUT I owe everyone who is still interested in and reading this story a huge apology for not posting when I said I would, and an even greater debt of gratitude for still being interested enough to read this little tale. As those of you who follow me on Twitter know, I had a major laptop crash right before I promised this last chapter. Luckily, I was able to recover all my completed and partially completed chapters as well as the story outline. It just took me an age to liberate it from the IT Guy who rescued it for me (and to whom I am also very grateful). I promise I will try to catch up, and get back on a regular schedule as soon as I can.**_

BPOV

I wake in a cold sweat from another one of those fucking dreams. It's always the same, but now they have a new ending, and T-squared always figures prominently. To make matters worse, my head is pounding with that all too familiar dull, aching thud that only comes from a few too many glasses of whisky. This is compounded by the fact that I am in a strange bed, and I cannot make sense of my surroundings. Then, it all comes back to me: the flight, the briefing, the blow-up with Em, the shopping, the pub…bronze hair, green eyes, the square jaw, and that singularly spectacular ass. _Right. Goooooooood morning, London. Jet lag sucks donkey balls. Jet lag combined with a hangover sucks fiery dragon balls!_ I rub my eyes, and train them on my travel alarm. It's 0345 hours local time making it just about a quarter 'til eleven in the evening at headquarters, and I know there is no getting back to sleep. This is going to make for an excruciatingly long day. Fuck. My. Life.

It's a small consolation, but I am somewhat relieved to find that I have awakened alone, and in my own, albeit still strange and new, bed. At least I somehow managed to keep my wits about me enough last night to not fall into bed with ol' T-squared after a few drinks and some small talk. _Not that the idea hadn't crossed my mind. It had. I won't even try to deny it. There's no use lying to myself. That man makes me think unfathomably impure thoughts. Holy Fucking Hell. It's too bad that he's the albatross I'll be dragging around over three continents. This makes the possibility of getting it over with and fucking him out of my system an absolute impossibility. _

Realizing that an attempt at going back to sleep will be futile, I drag myself out of bed and dress quietly, so as not to wake Angela in the next room. Thankful that I have a key to the gym, I grab it and head down to get in a run.

After turning on the lights in the gym, I grab a towel and hit the treadmill. As I hit my stride, I find myself thinking about the previous day's events.

Surprisingly, but for the bizarre, misplaced displays of testosterone and the twilight zone-esque conversations, T-squared was a remarkably easy and enjoyable shopping companion even if he is a little stiff at times. He did loosen up after a few pints. I'm not sure what to make of this, but it does seem that months on end with him in wherever the fuck we end up will not be likened to the root canal I'd feared it would be. After all, he does bring the pretty; that I cannot deny, and who couldn't use a little pretty in their life? _My life has been devoid of anything resembling pretty for far too long. How about that: a bright side. When did I become such a fucking optimist?_

I pick up the pace, pushing myself harder and working up a real sweat as I recall his horror at my little tit-for-tat with the bartender when we arrived at the pub.

"You, my dear, may quite literally be the most dangerous creature I've ever encountered, and that is quite a distinction."

Looking up at him through my lashes, I quip back, "Why English, that may just be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

He chuckles a bit, shaking his head at me. _Hmmm…he does that a lot_. Then, he quickly changes the subject, "You never did tell me how you became a jiujitsu master."

I cock my head, impressed that he was able to identify our particular brand of martial arts by simply observing, "You never did tell me how fat the file you have on me is."

"Are you really going to hold that against me? Isn't it good business to know who your friends are? You do not mean to suggest that you would hold my thoroughness and keen attention to detail against me, would you?"

_Oh, he's stepped into it now_. "Is that what you're calling it? Where was that thoroughness and keen attention to detail in Abu Dhabi there, Cowboy?"

He nearly chokes on his ale, "Pardon?"

"The bloodbath you left in your wake in Abu Dhabi?" _And there it is_. My cheeks flame with the memory of the mess he left, and his smug expression as the elevator doors closed.

He takes another long pull from his beer, finishes it, and signals the bartender for another. "Tell me, Special Agent Swan, if you had managed to turn up before I had, how would you have handled the target?"

Lowering my voice so as not to attract attention, or be overheard, "Ahhhh…Special Agent Cullen, a lady doesn't give up her secrets so easily, especially not trade secrets. Suffice it to say, there wouldn't have been the blood-soaked mess that you left behind."

Surprisingly, he doesn't go for the low hanging fruit, and make a snide comment about my status as a lady being questionable. _Always the gentleman, this one_.

Instead, he leans in close, enveloping me in his intoxicating scent, and lowers his voice so only I can hear, "Hmmm…planned to snap his neck, did you? …or were you going to poison him? Either way: too close, too personal, and too much room for human error. A sig sauer with a silencer is efficient and effective every time out."

Steadying myself, I cross and uncross my legs, take a long sip of whisky feeling it warm my throat as it goes down. I can't decide which is affecting me more: the whisky, or the man. I'm suddenly very aware of his presence. _Head in the game, Bella_.

The bartender breaks the spell by sliding another pint in front of Edward. I finish my drink, and before either the bartender or I can speak, Edward nods to him, "The _lady_ will have another." His emphasis on the word "lady" tells me he is either teasing, or baiting me.

This time I don't rise to his challenge. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, realizing that it is unwise to continue this conversation thread in such a public place, and needing to put some space between us, I sit back and change the subject, "I was extraordinarily clumsy and awkward as a teenager. When I came to live with Charlie, it was a difficult time for me. Because of what happened with my mom and her husband, I was scared of my own shadow for awhile. Charlie was concerned, and he took me to a dojo in Port Angeles. He thought it would help draw me out of my shell, and help with my coordination. He was right. I continued with it through undergrad, studying with a master in Seattle, and then in grad school and after I joined the Company. _That_ is how I learned to throw around one hundred ninety pound men like rag dolls among other things."

I look up, his gaze is soft, and he appears to be hanging on my every word, "You are extremely skilled. It's quite impressive."

Feeling a bit like a like a bug under a magnifying glass, I attempt to shift the focus from me, "Have you done any martial arts training?"

"I've dabbled in a bit of kung fu and krav maga, but nothing as intense, or as dedicated as your study. I dare say that you could very likely 'kick my ass' as you Americans say."

The bartender raises and eyebrow and scoffs at Edward as he slides another glass of whisky in front of me. His newly-found humility is startling. I take another long sip of whisky.

_Oh, were it not so, but flattery may just inch you slightly closer to my good graces, T-squared._ "It would be interesting to find out, wouldn't it?"

At this, he laughs out loud, "For you, perhaps. My male ego, however, might not make it out intact."

"Something tells me that your male ego is extraordinarily healthy and resilient, English."

He grins in response, "Why is it that I have the distinct feeling that you intend to test that theory quite thoroughly?"

I look up at him, and he flashes me a wide smile and his green eyes are sparkling mischievously. He takes my breath away. I return his smile, searching for an appropriate and witty retort, but fail. He's rendered me speechless, effectively dazzling me into silence. _Damn muddled brain! Damn Thieving Tsunami!_

Finding my voice, I quip back, "Something tells me that you'll manage to somehow miraculously squeak by and stand up to the test."

"One can hope…with hope springing eternal and all."

I pull myself back into the present as I hit the six mile mark. Hopping off the treadmill, I towel off and kill the lights in the gym. I return to the flat, and quietly let myself in being careful not to make noise that would wake Angela.

As I'm headed to the bathroom to jump in the shower, I stop dead in my tracks. I am utterly astonished to see T-squared stretched out on the sofa in the living room with his feet, ankles and calves dangling over the edge. He is lying on his back, and has one arm stretched over his head, and is sleeping peacefully. He looks so young, almost boyish, as he sleeps. _He really is quite beautiful, and so completely and utterly different from Jake who I also always thought was sort of beautiful in his own way_. Once again, I find myself just standing and staring at Edward.

It's all coming back to me. After few more drinks and a good bit of small talk about our childhoods, schooling, and work, we realized that neither of us has eaten, and both of us were a bit wasted. We walked back here, and I coaxed him into making omelets for us. Of course, I'd insisted that he not drive last night and offered him the sofa. Angela had already gone to bed, so I saw no harm in it. _No need in him heading out on the streets of London after a few too many pints._ Surprisingly, he agreed, and I gave him a pillow and blanket from my room, and here he is sleeping peacefully.

"Beau…Bella? Is everything okay?"

I jump at the sound of his voice not realizing that his eyes had fluttered open, and he'd once again, caught me staring at him. _Only this time I must seem like a crazy stalker chick_. "Ummm…yeah. Jet lag. I just went down, and got a run in. I'm just going to jump into the shower."

"What time is it?"

"I'm not sure. It's likely close to 0500 hours at this point. Go back to sleep. I'll wake you when I'm out of the shower."

With that, he closes his eyes again and a slight smile plays on his lips, "Mmmm…thanks, Beau…Bella. Just a bit longer and I'll be out of your hair."

I can't help but laugh at this, because nothing could be further from the truth. "Don't make promises you can't keep, English. I'll wake you in a bit."

I head to the shower hoping the hot water and steam will clear my head if not cool the throbbing ache that has taken up residence between my thighs.

~*~

A few short hours later, our entire blended team is assembled in a large conference room at MI6. _"The Brady Bunch" we are not!_ Remarkably, Rosalie and Emmett seem to be playing nice for the moment, albeit grudgingly, and are co-leading the meeting which is centering on Edward, me, and our cover for this mission. Everyone is clearly all-business today, and well-informed of the agenda.

Rosalie looks between Edward and me with this unfathomable expression on her face, and begins abruptly, "Generally, we assign complete new identities for these types of assignments. However, since the nature of your work has not required either of you to have extensive aliases, we've simply inverted your first and middle names, and assigned you a new surname to keep things simple. So, from this point forward, your aliases or professional names will be Anthony Edward and Marie Isabella Masen. This way, we figure you can continue to go by your given names without raising suspicion. It simplifies things. We're also using a family name from Edward's mother's, mother's side to further simplify your back story, and explain your connection to Carlisle and Esme. Carlisle insisted upon this. Jason has your funny papers all in order: Marriage certificate, passports, visas, driver's licenses, credit cards, and bank accounts; it's all in order."

Jason slid two fat envelopes across the table to Edward and me. I am tempted to peek at the contents, but have no doubt that our team has been completely thorough.

Rosalie nods to Emmett, and he continues, "Edward, your noc is as an exporter, and you will be using your Uncle Alistair's export business as the front for this operation and your base of operations. The back story says that you were made a partner in his business five years ago, I believe. We've also used your Uncle Alistair's address as the home address for both of you on all of your documents."

I look to Edward, "Won't Uncle Alistair mind us squatting in his house?"

Rosalie answers for Edward, which annoys the hell out of me for some reason, "You won't actually be living there, at least not initially. It will just be your official address."

As if completing Rosalie's sentence, Edward replies, "Alistair is a bit of a nomad. He's rarely at home. Last we heard, he was in Bogotá."

I nod in response. _Why is it that T-squared seemingly has more information than I do, and why is it that he and Blondie complete each others' fucking sentences?_

Angela chimes in, and continues, "Bella, for your noc, we've linked you with an international NGO, and given them an impressive back story on your past Peace Corps experience as well as work with several American NGOs and USG contracting agencies. We've given you experience working with food security programs and health centers, particularly those working with those living with HIV and AIDS. We've given you a second masters in public health from Hopkins in addition to your actual masters degree in language and linguistics from Georgetown. "

"Does it matter that I actually know next to nothing about health centers, food security, or people living with HIV and AIDS?" I inquire.

Emmett quips back quickly, "Not at all. Crowley and Cheney will brief you on all that you need to know, a bit of on-the-job training as it were. We sense that you'll have an intuitive sense for it, and your actual time on the job will likely be minimal. We have friends on the inside of the organization that will smooth your way. I know this is a good bit different from how you are used to working, but this is a unique operation. Your noc will also give you access that you and Edward would not have as a mere exporter and his pampered wife. This strikes a much more attractive and believable silhouette for those you will encounter, and will grant you entrée into places that you would not otherwise have access. It will also serve to misdirect any suspicion that might arise about the two of you. We believe it will be quite successful."

Rosalie nods in agreement, and I can't help but be unsettled by seeing the two of them getting along and sharing the spotlight as Em yields the floor to Rosalie, "As for the story of how you met, you met in London while Bella was on holiday in between assignments. Bella happened to venture into your exports shop in the West End, and the rest as they say, is history. You immediately fell in love, and in a romantic and impetuous gesture, Edward proposed and you accepted, and you were married days later. Whirlwind romance, flowers, hearts, and such."

Edward and I share a glance that seems both incredulous and skeptical.

At this point, quiet Eric pipes up, "Bella, as merely a precautionary measure, we've crafted a back story for you that has you growing up in Phoenix, and then, attending U.W. and Georgetown, which of course, is all true. The key is to make your cover story not so different from your actual history, so there is less chance of a misstep. We've only omitted your connection to Forks. This will serve to protect Charlie and everyone connected to you there. Volturi Enterprises Unlimited's reach is wide, and they are incredibly resourceful. If you and Edward were to be compromised, and your connection to Forks uncovered, everyone you care about there could be in danger."

I blink in surprise, "That would mean that you somehow omitted Phil and Renee's murders. How did you manage that?"

Eric continues, "Well, remember, you aren't you, exactly. We didn't erase those details, we just shifted your presence in them, and put you in a much less dramatic trajectory."

I nod in response feeling oddly saddened that a few simple keystrokes could erase Charlie and everyone from Forks from my life. _Eerily, not wholly unlike how Jake was suddenly gone from my life_. _Of course, my connection to Jake was never erased, although perhaps that is exactly what is happening now?_

Angela looks between Emmett and Rosalie, "Code names were a bit of sticking point. In the end, we decided to use Midnight Sun for Edward and Twilight for Bella." For some reason, Rosalie looks particularly smug at this revelation.

Angela then looks over to Ben and Tyler who are both perched behind their laptops, "Ben and Tyler, do you want to review the communications protocols with them?"

They both nod and look at each other, and Ben starts, "This is business as usual, and shouldn't be news to either of you. As a team, we decided that most routine communication will happen through emails and texts between Bella and her best friend, Edna." Ben looks over at Alice who looks like she just may quite possibly be velcroed to Jasper's side. Their chairs are scooted that close together. Alice sits straighter in her chair, smiles like a lovestruck loon, and waves.

Alice, looking positively freshly fucked and still beaming from ear to ear, chirps, "Edna E. Mode, at your service, my friend!" winking at me. I can't help but chuckle under my breath. _Good for you, Ali_. It's great to see her so happy.

Ben continues, "In emergencies, you will communicate via email and text through Bella's brother, Emerson" To which, he and Emmett exchange a look, and Emmett nods at me. "…or Edward's sister, "

Oddly, I notice that Edward flinches visibly and closes his eyes when Ben says the word sister. _I wonder what that's about._

"…Lilly, who of course, is Rosalie." With that, the blonde bombshell rolls her eyes as if they could have been a bit more creative in choosing a cover name for her.

"Edward, any communication between you and your father should be done in the same manner, untraceable phones and emails, and you should always refer to him as your Uncle Alistair."

Edward nods.

Ben continues, "All tactical and operational instructions will be coordinated with both team leads communicated through Agent Whitlock, code name: Ranger. Occasionally, these instructions will happen in routine communication between Bella and Alice, and sometimes will come from Jasper directly."

Jasper tips an invisible hat to Edward and me and flashes us a Colgate smile. _Hmmm….Ol' Ranger's looking freshly fucked himself._

"As always, all phones and other equipment will be swapped out every thirty days. All email accounts and passwords will be changed every thirty days as well. Most supplies, equipment and weapons that Alice and Riley will supply will be provided via dead drop once you are in position. Any questions?"

Both Edward and I shake our heads no.

Ben turns to Tyler, and asks him if he wants to discuss the finer points of dead drops and timed drops. Tyler nods, and begins, "Right then, in each location where you are positioned, we will identify a spot where you will both pick up, and drop off information, equipment, supplies, etc. You both know the drill. Once you are positioned in each location, Alice will communicate the location, generally in code that Alice and Bella understand." Alice and I share a glance, and Tyler continues, "When there is information or supplies that are time sensitive. You and Alice will communicate this via text or email, by simply texting or emailing, 'Miss you tons.' The response will be, 'Miss you more times and a number.'"

Tyler stands up, goes to the white board on the wall, and begins writing, "For example, if the timed drop will happen at 1500 hrs, then the response would be 'Miss you more x15.' Any questions?"

I pipe up, and inquire, "What about weapons?"

At that, Mike chimes in, "It's becoming increasingly difficult to travel with weapons. Even though both of you have all the proper licenses to carry concealed weapons, it is not advisable in the current climate. Beyond that, given your cover stories, it would draw too much attention, and we don't anticipate that either of you would need weapons while in transit. Once you are in place, weapons will be delivered via dead drop, and once you are finished with them, you will return them via dead drop. Traveling armed is simply too risky in the current global climate."

Rosalie adds, "We anticipate that the first part of the operation will be merely intelligence gathering. We need to get closer to Aro, Caius, and the nerve center of their operation to determine exactly what they are up to, and where. Once we have that information, we can determine what action needs to be taken."

Emmett interrupts Rosalie, and she glares at him with a look that could be likened to the evil eye. "Whitlock, Hale, and Hudson will be briefing us all on the latest commint on the Volturi brothers at tomorrow's briefing. We can discuss strategy then. Any questions?"

No one spoke.

In unison, both Emmett and Rosalie said, "Meeting adjourned," and then turned to glare at each other.

Emmett cleared his throat and continued, "Before everyone gets back to work, remember that there is a team dinner in my flat at 1730 hours. Dress is casual. I hope everyone will join us."

With that we are dismissed, and I make a beeline for one of the vans to get back to Em's penthouse, and get cooking. I can feel T-squared's eyes on my back as I leave him in my dust. He's a smart boy. _He'll figure it out_.

EPOV

Luckily, I was able to catch Bella before she was spirited away into one of those unmarked vans they've been using. I reminded her that we still needed to pick up the seafood from Steve Hatt in Islington, and steered her toward the Volvo. We make it to the fishmonger in record time. Of course, not without Bella making very pointed comments about me being a menace to the roadways. Amazingly, and in very short order, Bella has made quick work of the remaining shopping, and leaves the seafood counter with an exorbitant amount of crustacean. She seems quite pleased with herself, and again, I find her utterly enchanting when she's so happy like this.

Less than an hour and a half after Rosalie and McCarty dismiss us, Bella and I are working silently together in McCarty's penthouse kitchen. I think things are going alright, but for the fact we keep bumping into one another. It's rather comical actually. I can suddenly see glimmers of that awkward, clumsy girl that Bella described at the pub last night. She's definitely still in there and she keeps stomping on my toes. Luckily for my toes, she is barefoot and looking absolutely adorable with her hair piled on her head in a messy knot, and an apron over what seem to be some sort of black, casual lounge or sporty ensemble. She is a vision, and I can't seem to take my eyes off of her. Luckily, she is in her own little world buzzing around the kitchen like a little whirling dervish making quick work of the menu she has planned for this evening. It's quite remarkable, really.

I'm doing her bidding, serving as a bit of a sous chef, really. I'm cutting up veg, when I turn to the sink to wash a pepper, and she crashes into me. In a move that is seemingly becoming all too familiar, I grab her arms to steady her, and am caught a bit off guard by the way her luscious curves fit perfectly against me. I'm a bit overcome. _Bloody hell! She feels amazing, and she smells…mouthwatering_. When our eyes meet, I see a glimmer of something that suggests that she must feel it too.

In an instant, the recognition is gone, and she steps back, and begins dramatically drawing boxes around us: first around her, and then around me. "Look, spaghetti arms. This is _**my dance space**_. This is _**your dance space**_. I don't go into _**yours**_, you don't go into mine. Got it?"

I have no earthly idea what she's talking about, but I can't help but shake my head and chuckle a bit at her theatrics.

At that, she sighs dramatically, "Helloooooooo… Johnny Castle? Dirty Dancing? You really were raised under a rock, weren't you, English?" With that, she rolls her eyes, and turns back to stir whatever it is she has going on the cooker.

Finally, realisation dawns on me, this is yet another bizarre American pop culture reference. It seems to be an obsession with this one. I decide to play along, "Right, right…nobody puts Baby in a corner, is it?"

She looks up from the pot, raises an eyebrow, and smiles, "Go figure. I think your stock may have just inched up every so slightly, English."

I can't resist, but to respond, "Imagine that, and here I didn't even realise I was being publicly traded."

I hear her snicker softly as she tends to the pans on the cooker. I do believe she may be thawing a bit. This is a promising development.

~ * ~

Less than four hours later, Bella has turned out an impressive spread. It truly is quite remarkable, really. She's been in town less than 72 hours, and she throws together a massive dinner party with the same ease as taking a stroll along the Thames. _Who does that?_

We manage to get most of the cold dishes spread out on the table creating a bit of a makeshift buffet. She discards her apron, throwing it onto the counter, and leaves me to look over things as I'm portioning up the omelet, and putting it on platters to keep in the cooker's warming drawer.

She eyes me up skeptically, "I need to run down to my flat for a bit. I'd like to freshen up a bit, and change. Do you think you can manage to keep from burning down the building while I'm gone?"

I scoff, "Ye of little faith. I think I can handle it. Go. I'll keep my eye on things here."

"Okay, other than getting the rest of the omelet in the warming drawer, there really isn't anything else that needs to be done at this point. "

"It will be fine. Everything looks amazing."

"I'll be quick. Our guests should be arriving soon, and I need to add the seafood to the paella before we serve it, so it doesn't overcook."

"Go." I chuckle, because for the first time, I see the slightest hint of a chink in that calm, cool exterior that she wears like a medieval suit of armor.

She sighs heavily. "Fine. I'll be back in a few."

I nod amused at her unease.

She looks over her shoulder as she opens the door to head out, "English?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

With that, she's out the door. I smile realising this evening may prove to be quite interesting, and out of habit, I check my pocket for that small box my father had given me.

a/n -

SpySpeak:

**DEAD DROP** – a physical location where communications, documents, or equipment is covertly placed for another person to collect without direct contact between the parties.

**FRIEND** – slang for an agent, informant, or mole providing information to a handler.

**FRONT** – a legitimate-appearing business created by an intelligence agency or security service to provide cover for spies and their operations.

**FUNNY PAPER** – slang for the counterfeiting and forged documents section of an intelligence agency or security service.

**NGO** - term that has become widely accepted as referring to a legally constituted, _**non-governmental organization**_ created by natural or legal persons with no participation or representation of any government. In the cases in which NGOs are funded totally or partially by governments, the NGO maintains its non-governmental status and excludes government representatives from membership in the organization.

**NOC -** A spy with Non-Official Cover. A fake or real private sector job used by a case officer as a cover.

**PROFESSIONAL-NAME** – nom de guerre of a spy.

**TIMED DROP -** a dead drop that will be retrieved by a recipient after a set time period.

**USG** – United States Government

As ever, I am indebted to the Oz posse kept the faith in OLR when I nearly lost it (when the laptop crashed): Kristi28 (my beta), laurasfirsttime (OLR webmistress), unconditionally (wussperv-in-residence), and wonderful pre-readers: jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, and jslack. I adore each and every one of them.

Edwardia Maven, as ever, spent unending hours reviewing this chapter, and keeping me well sorted in all things British/English! Her friendship, patience and keen eye continue to make OLR so, so much better, and more fun to write/publish.

myimmortal validates OLR for Twi'd, and she is awesome, and also deserves my thanks.

My do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for this week was rec'd to me by Edwardia Maven. It is called How to Save a Life by unholy obsession. It's an angsty little tale, and sometimes a bit of angst is a perfect escape.

I don't exactly know when your next installment of OLR will be posted. Life is commanding my attention at the moment. If the stars align, I may surprise you with and update next weekend, but May 2nd is a more likely target.

Again, thank you all for reading and sticking with me through my own personal silicon Armageddon. I do try to respond to all reviews, and send a bit of love back. The meltdown threw me off my game, and I inevitably missed some of you this time around. I'll do better with this update.

Until soon, my pretties!

xoxo,

drs


	13. Chapter 12: Patriot Games

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. **

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 12 is: ****100% ****wussperv safe and approved. As I first warned in Chapter 11, things will not always be so safe, warm, and fuzzy for this crew. Consider yourselves warned.**

_**I'm going to break my minimal opening a/n rule again, and for good reason. For all of you who are still reading and reviewing after my extended hiatus, I am humbled by the support and understanding that you've extended me. More than that, I am overwhelmed at how excited you are that we are rolling along again. You are the best readers! Thank you so much for all the love and support!**_

BPOV

I finish drying my hair leaving it long and loose, and slip into my favorite midnight blue, cashmere, vintage wrap dress. Alice picked it up for me on one of her shopping extravaganzas insisting that my closet simply would not be complete without such a classic. Alice is right. That Diane Von Furstenberg knew what she was doing. The cashmere feels fabulously soft against my skin, and as I inspect my reflection, while I take a bit more time with my make-up, I realize that I look and feel great tonight. _Everything has come together so well. It feels like it's going to be a good night._

As I dress, I'm distracted by thoughts of T-squared, and how helpful he's been this afternoon. Despite being constantly underfoot, he really did manage to make himself helpful in the kitchen. As much as I'd steeled myself to despise him, I am finding that in spite of our communication challenges, hating him is proving to be more difficult than I'd imagined. _Especially when he smells so delicious, and smirks at me in that way that he does. I suppose that won't be so horrible to endure. Head in the game, Bella. I am not allowed to fuck my new field partner senseless, no matter how delicious he smells, or how adorable his fucking smirk is! That would be incredibly unprofessional and highly inappropriate. This shall be my mantra._

Silencing my inner chatter, I glare at the lovely navy death traps that Alice had proudly presented me along with the dress. She claimed that every woman simply had to own at least one pair of Louboutin's, and this dress screamed out to be paired with them. _What-the-fuck-ever. I'd rather wear sneakers, but it's simply not worth the public flogging that Alice would mete out should I dare._ Truth be told, this dress and these shoes are a perfect match. _What's a little foot torture, anyway? I can always kick them off when I'm in the kitchen._

I add my trademark jewelry, being sure that the rings are hidden underneath the neckline of my dress. I slip into my shoes, and head back up to the penthouse.

When I reach Emmett's place, I am quite startled to hear the sound of the baby grand piano has replaced the sound of my ipod party playlist on the other side of the door.

EPOV

With Bella off presumably dressing for the party, and all the preparations for the dinner completed, I am left a little at loose ends. Not really knowing Special Agent McCarty, I don't wish to intrude on his privacy, not that any of them had been here long enough to have settled in and made themselves at home. When we delivered the groceries yesterday, I noticed the baby grand in the corner, and wondered if Emmett plays, or if it is just a coincidence of renting a furnished flat.

I figure I can kill some time at the piano, sit down, and set into Bach's Little Prelude in C major to warm up, and after a minute or so, switch over to his Sleeper's Wake, and then onto a favourite Chopin etude. Esme forced music lessons onto Tanya and me from a very young age. Fortunately, for us, we both seemed to enjoy them, and have a bit of talent. Tanya favoured the violin over piano, but I always enjoyed the feel of the keys under my fingers. Later, shortly after Tanya's disappearance, I picked up a guitar that Carlisle had lying around that he never really seemed to play, and found I had a knack for that as well. Before I knew it, Esme had added guitar lessons to my weekly schedule. Both served their purpose in helping me fill long hours of self-imposed solitude during my youth and adolescence as I worked through the grief of losing Tanya. I've managed to keep up with both over the years.

Lost in the music, I don't hear the door, and am surprised when I look up from the keyboard, and see Bella standing across the room looking every bit as gorgeous as the first night I laid eyes on her in hotel corridor in Abu Dhabi. More so, perhaps, she looks magnificent in blue. In my surprise, the keys fall silent.

"Don't stop on my account. It sounded lovely. You're a man of many talents aren't you, English?"

She looks so breathtaking standing there that she's effectively rendered me mum. She crosses the room and stands beside me.

"You look beautiful, Bella."

She smiles at me, raises her hand to my chin, and gently closes my mouth, which I didn't even realize was gaping, "Thank you, English. You'd better close that. You'll catch flies."

"Doubtful. Flies are dormant this time of year."

This makes me chuckle. "You're a walking encyclopedia, aren't you? Having you around is like having my own personal human google monster."

I quirk my eyebrow in reply, "google monster?"

She nods, "Yep. Human search engine. That may actually come in handy."

"Delighted to be of service."

I shake my head in disbelief, and stare at the beautiful and utterly absurd woman standing before me as she kicks off her shoes, and picks them up, and turns away from me, "I think after that bit of illuminating repartee, it's time for a drink. Sangria?"

I watch her hips sway enticingly as she heads for the kitchen, "Starting before the guests arrive?"

"Desperate times, English…desperate times!" she calls over her shoulder.

Bella lays her shoes on the barstool that is pulled up to the kitchen counter, heads for the fridge, and pulls out a large pitcher of sangria. She fills two wine glasses with the concoction, and motions for me to join her. She offers me a glass and raises hers. "A toast?"

"To what shall we toast?"

"Hmmm…how about to being lost in translation?"

"That's as good a reason as any. We could toast to effective teamwork"

"Alrighty then, to effective teamwork being lost in translation. Cheers!"

I shake my head and laugh under my breath, "Cheers!"

We clink our glasses as custom dictates, and both drink a bit too deeply. I set my glass on the counter, pull out a barstool, and sit, "We really should pace ourselves. It's going to be a long evening."

She quirks her eyebrow upward, her face taking on this funny expression, and quips in this sexy, sultry voice that is not her own, "Don't be silly, the important drinking hasn't begun yet."

It is now my turn to quirk my eyebrow back at her, "Important drinking?"

She takes another sip of her sangria and laughs, "Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman? Notorious?"

"Sorry, I must have missed that one."

"Why am I not surprised?"

Just then, there's a knock at the door, so Bella rushes over in her stocking-clad feet and answers the door, greeting Alice and Jasper.

BPOV

Alice and Jasper arrive interrupting an utterly bizarre exchange between Edward and me. Alice is effusive, and dressed to the nines making me feel like I've just rolled out of bed and rummaged through the laundry hamper. She's a tad overdressed for the occasion, but that's Alice.

Upon entering the penthouse, Alice grabs me into a hug and kisses me on both cheeks before I can greet them properly.

"You look magnificent, Bella! No one wears vintage quite like you. You're timeless, darling, but what have you done with those magnificent shoes? Don't tell me that…."

I laugh in response and cut her off, "And you are fashion-forward and fabulous as ever, Ali. The shoes are on the barstool. I'm just giving my toes a little time off for good behavior"

Alice rolls her eyes at me, but doesn't comment further on my shoeless feet. Then, she spontaneously does a pirouette showing off all angles of the short, black, swing coat dress and black intricate lace leggings. "This is a fabulous ensemble, isn't it? This seemed the perfect occasion to pay my respects to the passing of a creative genius."

"Creative genius, Ali?"

Jasper looks amused as if this is not the first time that he's heard this little soliloquy, nods to me in greeting acknowledging that he's not about to get a word in edgewise, and moves over to join Edward by the sangria.

In a lowered voice that conveys profound deference, Alice continues, "Oh yes. Alexander McQueen, darling. Didn't you hear? I am inconsolable."

I whisper in response, "Yes, that was so incredibly tragic and sad. However, it would appear that Jasper is doing a fine job of consoling you."

"That he is, but he's just in it for the leggings and the short skirt. He's very partial to the lace leggings," she whispers back.

"I'll bet he is, and I highly doubt he's just in it for your short skirt given the way he can't take his eyes off of you."

Alice beams, "Do you really think so, Belly?" Her face falls a little and she lowers her voice a little, "I mean, of course, I know that we are a foregone conclusion, but what if I'm wrong this time?"

"Ali, you're never wrong. I'd never bet against you."

Alice hugs me again. "Thank you, Belly."

"You're welcome, Ali. Incidentally, how is it that you've managed to find time to go shopping in the short time we've been in town, especially when you and Walker, Texas Ranger, over there have been joined at the hip?"

"Well, shopping is in my job description, and Jaz is a surprisingly patient shopping companion. Wait until you see the things I've gotten for your honeymoon! Your trousseau alone is amazing. I've outdone myself!"

Before I can respond and register my outrage, Emmett bounds through the door with the rest of the guys on our joint team. Curiously, I notice that Angela and Ben are conspicuously absent. Not only that, Carlisle and Rosalie are also nowhere in sight. The boys are a bit raucous, and I suspect that they've stopped off at a pub on their way to the party. I quickly go and pick up my shoes and slide into them.

"I'm starving!" Mike exclaims.

"You're always starving, Mike!" I quip back.

"It smells great in here, B!" Emmett booms.

"Thanks, Em. Why don't you guys help yourselves to sangria? There's also assorted tapas on the table. I'll get the Spanish omelet from the warming drawer and put it on the table now. Then, I need to put the finishing touches on the paella."

Edward must've heard me, because he wordlessly gets up goes to the kitchen, and pulls out the platters containing the wedges of Spanish omelet, and adds them to the table. I catch his eye, and mouth a silent thank you to him. Edward responds with a wink that makes my stomach flutter. _That man may very well be the key to my demise. Damn traitorous body! Damn T-Squared! Remember the mantra…remember the mantra._

The boys are already making themselves at home eagerly helping themselves to food and drink.

"B, can I have a word?" Emmett inquires.

"Sure, Em." I nod and follow him down the hallway. "What is it?"

"Things are moving forward very quickly, now. I wasn't sure when I'd get another opportunity, so I wanted to be sure that we touched base tonight."

"What do you need, Em?"

"I saw that little silent exchange between you and Edward. How are you and the Brit doing, B?"

"Could be worse, I suppose. I'm still not confident in his field abilities; he drives like a flipping maniac; and communication between us seems to be a bit of an issue." Thinking back to his display at the housewares store, I add, "He also has these annoying bursts of testosterone-fueled caveman antics. That could get old, especially if he gets in my way when we're in the field. Other than that, he's companionable in a market and is a decent sous chef. That's really all I know of him at this point." _Well, that and he smells delectable, and every time he smirks at me I have this barely controllable urge to drop trou. Yeah, Em definitely doesn't need briefed on those particular details. Remember the mantra, Bella._

"Well, that's better than I expected, actually."

"What do you mean by that, Em?"

"I mean that I thought that you were going to eat the poor man for lunch, B. We both know how you can be."

"Oh? Isn't that a bit of pot and kettle? How does it feel to have Butcher Barbie feasting on your bones at every turn, Farmboy?"

"Her name is Rosalie, B. I suggest that you use it, and if you cannot manage that, then Special Agent Hale will do just as well."

"Wow, Em. I wasn't expecting this."

"Expecting what?" Emmett asks looking wary.

"I wasn't expecting you to fall prey to the English rose. Be careful there, pal. She's a beauty; there's no doubt, but mark my words, that one has wicked thorns. I have no doubt she'd not hesitate to draw blood. Just watch yourself, Em. If I'm in the field I don't think Alice will be able to rescue you."

"B, your concern is touching, but misplaced. Special Agent Hale and I are working out sharing leadership of the team, but there is nothing more to the camaraderie, albeit as tenuous as it is, at that."

I can't help but laugh, because I can't quite tell whether he's trying to convince me or himself of this bullshit. "Keep telling yourself that, pal."

I can't help but tease him a bit, "I think you liiiiiiike her. I think you want to daaaaaate her, kiss her and maaaarry her."

Emmett scoffs, "Quit channeling Gracie Hart. It doesn't suit you. You watch too many fucking movies, B. We need to see about getting you a life!"

I sigh, "I have a life, Emmett. In fact, I have a very full life. It may not be conventional, but it's a life, nonetheless. Lay off."

Emmett nods. "Look, I didn't call you aside to argue with you, B."

"Why did you call me aside, Em?"

"I have something for you." With that he holds up a tiny silver charm of a ladybug and grasps my wrist, and attaches the ladybug charm to my bracelet.

Before I can inquire, he continues, "Ladybugs are good luck and symbolize protection and friendship. This particular little ladybug contains a small GPS microchip that will enable us to get a lock on you and Edward no matter where the op takes you. This will enable us to mobilize resources quickly should we need to evacuate you in case of emergency. You're not alone, B. You're never alone. Remember that. We won't let you down. I won't let you down. No matter what, wear that bracelet always."

I feel myself choking up a bit, and fight against letting any emotion show, "Thanks, Em. I hope I don't let you down. I'll wear the bracelet, I promise."

Emmett nods and squeezes my shoulder, and pulls me into a big bear hug squeezing the breath out of me, apparently at a loss for words. "We should rejoin the party. I think we might be missed, and the natives might get restless if you don't feed them soon!"

"Well, they do have tapas, but I should get the seafood into the paella, and get it ready to serve."

"Fair enough, B. Go see to our guests. This is a party, after all. In fact, I see a glass of sangria that has my name all over it!"

Emmett and I return to the party. Oddly, I think I notice Edward eyeing Emmett and me as we return to the group, but I dismiss it as my overactive imagination. Immediately, when we rejoin the festivities, I notice that Angela and Ben have joined the group as have Rosalie and Carlisle. _Well, well, well…the gang's all here._

I make my way to the kitchen, kick off my shoes, and add the seafood to the paella, bring it all up to temperature, and watch carefully to be sure that it cooks through perfectly. As the dish finishes, I garnish liberally with fresh parsley across both pans. When I turn to move the pans to the table, Edward is right behind me with dishtowels in hand ready to help me. _What is it with this guy? He's too damn smooth for his own good. He's a bit like a golden retriever: a bit too eager and earnest._

As everyone digs into the paella, I return to the kitchen to retrieve the flans for dessert. Once again, Edward appears on my heels, and helps me cart dessert into the dining area of the flat. _He really is like a golden retriever: always underfoot. This is going to take some getting used to, certainly! Holy Fucking Hell!_

I slide the stilts back onto my feet, start a nice Columbian dark roast coffee to accompany the flan, and I set out more sangria which seems to be the crowd favorite.

EPOV

I can't help feeling a bit unsettled after witnessing that intimate little **tête****-****à**-**tête between Bella and Emmett McCarty. Supervisors generally do not give their subordinates jewellery, or appear as cozy as those two appear. _There's something more to that relationship, and I don't like it._**

**I stand off to the side observing as everyone gathers around the large table where Bella and I have laid the buffet and fill their plates. Nursing my drink, I find myself preoccupied with listening in on a quiet little side spat that Rosalie and Emmett seem to be having. **

"You know, McCarty, this dinner was supposed to be a team building activity. As one of the leaders of this team, you would do well to mix with _all_ members of the team, rather than cuddling in the corridor with Agent Swan." Rosalie spits. _Well, well, well…Rose noticed that as well._

**"Why Rosie, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous!"**

**"Jealous. Don't be absurd. I'm just reminding you of your responsibilities to the team and this mission."**

**"I am very well-aware of my responsibilities, Blondie. You need to loosen up, woman. Let's get you a drink."**

**"Are you trying to get me drunk, so you can stage a coup, McCarty?"**

**Emmett's laugher booms through the room, "I wouldn't dream of it, Blondie. Come on, you're off the clock."**

**The two continue bickering as they head toward the sangria. _Will their handbags never cease?_**

**Just as I am about to make my way to the buffet to fill a plate, I noticed my father making a beeline for Bella. _Oh_ _bugger all! This is going to be arse about face. I should have mentioned dinner with Mum to Beauty, and now, Carlisle is going to spring it on her. _**Not wanting to miss this exchange, I position myself strategically as my father extends a dinner invitation for both us at my family home.

"Edward. I was just telling Bella how lovely everything is. The food is delicious. Well done. Everyone seems to be getting on quite well."

"Well, everyone except for our fearless leaders." Bella quips.

Neither Carlisle nor I can't help but laugh at that. Bella really is quite perceptive. She's noticed the tension between Emmett and Rosalie as well.

My father responds, "They're just coming to a meeting of the minds. They'll get it sorted."

To which I can't help but add, "Or off each other in the process!"

"Well, let us hope it doesn't lead to that." Carlisle replies.

Bella adds, "Hope does spring eternal!"

We all laugh at that, and Carlisle changes the subject, "I hate to do this, but your mother is waiting at home, and I need to get going."

Bella chimes in, "Oh! Well, let me make up a plate for her."

"That's very kind of you, Bella, but I'm quite sure she's already eaten. However, I'm sure Edward has mentioned that Esme and I would like to reciprocate, and have the two of you over for dinner tomorrow night."

Bella's demeanor is calm and cool, but I sense a flicker of what can only be panic flash in her eyes as she looks from Carlisle to me, "Dinner?"

My father gives me look that clearly communicates he's displeased that I've not yet invited Beauty to dinner. "Yes, I do hope that you'll be able to make it."

Betraying nothing, Bella replies, "Of course, that sounds, lovely."

Carlisle says his goodbyes and makes his way out the door, but not without Bella managing to slip him two pieces of flan before he makes his exit. I watch him thank her, and disappear just as the party seems to get louder obviously due to the entire team being on the piss.

Bella leans in and whispers, "You could have given me a heads up about dinner with your mother, English!"

Running my hand through my hair nervously, "Well, there wasn't really a good time. Don't worry. Mum will adore you."

Bella eyes me skeptically, "That's really beside the point."

Wishing to change the subject, I counter, "You need to eat. You've not eaten anything all night."

"Nice segue, Cyrano. I could say the same of you."

"Well come on then, let's get something to eat before the boys start licking the platters."

BPOV

Still reeling from the thought of dinner with Edward's parents, I opt to take the Scarlett O'Hara approach to that particular social engagement. _I will deal with that tomorrow: for tomorrow is another day! _Edward and I fix ourselves plates, and have a bite to eat. As we finish, I notice that everyone is done eating, and happily enjoying the sangria and flan, so I opt to clean away some of the plates, and get them in the dishwasher, so we don't have a total mess at the end of the evening. Arms full, I head for the kitchen, kick those blasted shoes off again, and set to work. As I'm rinsing and loading dishes in the dishwasher, Edward trails in behind me carrying more dishes.

"I thought you'd be entertaining the masses, Liberace."

He shakes his head at me in that way he does, "Yes, well, not gay. Press the point, and I'll think you are angling for me to prove it to you! As happens, I thought you could use some help."

Perhaps it is the sangria, but that catches me off guard, and I stare intently at the dish I'm rinsing, not quite sure how to respond to him. I feel my cheeks flush pink, and I hope that he doesn't notice since I'm turned away from him loading the dishwasher. _Ice water. Veins. Head in the game, Bella._ Clearly, Rosalie and Emmett are not the only ones who are feeling emboldened by liquid courage.

I place a plate in the dishwasher, and reach out to take the plates he's holding, and smile up at him, "Thank you for your help, Edward. That's very thoughtful of you."

I notice a peculiar expression pass over his face as if he's trying to figure out what just happened. In truth, once again, I just needed to put a little distance between us. He smiles back at me with one of those blinding, genuine infectious grins, "The pleasure is mine, Bella."

_Well this isn't awkward. Nope, not at all. Not a bit._

I return to the sink, and he clears his throat, "There's been something I've been meaning to discuss with you. What I mean to say is that I have something for you."

I look up surprised, "What is it?"

Suddenly, he looks a bit green around the gills and extremely uncomfortable. He starts, "I know ours is an extremely unconventional union. Yet and still, there are some customs that should be observed, nonetheless. There is a small matter of wedding rings."

With that, he pulls out a clearly-aged, small, familiar-shaped box that can only contain rings, and before he can open the box, or continue, I pull the chain out from beneath the neckline of my dress, and reveal Jake's rings.

"No worries, English. I've got this covered, at least on my end. I suppose we should start wearing them, shouldn't we? Do you have your ring covered?"

He looks at me speculatively, and something dark and unreadable passes across his face. It's only there for a moment, and then, it is gone. He recovers, and pockets the box, "Covered, you say?"

"Covered. Do you have a wedding band for yourself, because I only have these?"

"Of course." His terse response startles me. _How could he possibly have a problem with my rings?_

He holds out his hand, and fingers the ladybug charm that Emmett had given me earlier in the evening. "It is a bit curious that you'll accept a gift of jewelry from Emmett, yet, you won't accept these rings from me. Why is that?"

_What an odd thing for him to say_. _Why on earth would I accept gifts, especially jewelry from a virtual stranger?_ "Well, Emmett is my boss. He's seen me through some tough times, and we've been friends for a very long time. He's more like a big brother than a boss. Your dossier probably told you that, though, didn't it?" I can't manage to disguise the annoyance in my voice, "Besides, it wasn't so much a gift as a long leash."

"A long leash?"

"Yes, as in, a rope or chain that is usually used when walking a dog."

He rolls his eyes in response, "I do happen to know what a leash is. Why on earth would you compare yourself to a dog? Did he…?" His clear annoyance at my teasing seems to turn into something else that I can't quite discern.

I can't help but laugh. Our ability to communicate is not improving, "No! Absolutely not, I'd have decked him if he had. It is a charm for my charm bracelet that is fitted with a tiny GPS microchip. It is a fail-safe for us, of sorts."

"I see. Well, it is a lovely little fail-safe, at that." He fingers the charm again, and looks down at me, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You know, in Chinese symbolism the ladybug is very auspicious and considered exceedingly good luck. Asian lore indicates if a ladybug lands on your clothing, your **true love **is sure to come to call, and the number of spots on the ladybug is an indication of how many months will pass until you will encounter your true love." He looks closer, "It looks like this ladybug has only three spots."

_Damnit! T-Squared has rendered me speechless again. Head in the game, Bella._ Once again, needing distance, I pull my hand away and resume rinsing plates and putting them into the dishwasher. Regaining my composure, I respond with the first thing that pops into my head, "Well, in my neck of the woods, ladybugs symbolize friendship and protection. You're right about the good luck part, though." Suddenly, I realize that I sound like a petulant child, and I stomp my foot in frustration before it occurs to me that is only making matters worse.

He smirks in response and tilts his head in a way that I fear may just make my heart stop, "At least, you missed my foot that time. As for the charm, it won't hurt to have a bit of good luck on our side with what's ahead for us, but none of that explains why you won't accept these rings. They're perfectly lovely rings. Antiques. From a very reputable London jeweler, I assure you. They are fitting for the assignment, and they match the men's band. I don't see the issue."

"There is no issue. I have my own rings. There's no need to use those." His insistence is beginning to make me squirm. _What is the big deal about these damn rings? Can't he just let it go?_

"Generally, the custom is that a man presents his betrothed with rings. Is it not?"

"That aside, we've only just met, and this is an assignment, not a betrothal, English. You're moving a bit fast there, Speed Racer."

Oddly, I think he might have flinched ever so slightly in response to that remark, "You're going to have to become a bit better actress for this arrangement to work. True, we have only just met, but we are posing as a pair of blissful newlyweds. Are we not? And Speed Racer? Dare I ask?"

Before I can respond, Alice bounds into the room with Jasper faithfully at her side. Both have clearly been enjoying the sangria. "Edward! Jasper tells me that you play the piano!"

"And the guitar." Jasper adds, as if finishing her sentence. _Already finishing each other's sentences. How many hours have we been in town? Speaking of betrothals, I wonder if she'll send the wedding invitation to me while we're in the field._

Before he can even begin to protest, Alice latches onto Edward's arm and begins tugging him over to the piano, and yells loudly, "Edward is going to treat us to a bit of a concert, everyone."

Edward looks back over his shoulder, and gives me a look that tells me our conversation isn't even remotely in the realm of being finished. Once again, as I have many times since I've met her, I send up a silent little prayer of thanks for Alice. Jasper looks at me, and shrugs his shoulders. I can tell he's had his share of sangria, and he's working on draining the glass he's currently holding. He smiles an easy and charming smile as I hear Edward begin to play in the next room.

Jasper eyes me speculatively as if he's sizing me up, "How are you adjusting? Are you and Edward getting along?"

I sigh as I put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher, "Fine, I suppose. Communication is a bit of an issue."

Jasper laughs out loud, "I'm sure that it is! I'm sure you'll manage, though. I've gotten to know Edward pretty well since I've been stationed in London. He's a good buddy as well as a fine colleague. Edward is a good man, Bella, and a top-notch asset, among the best. We couldn't have picked two better assets for this assignment. You'll make a great team. I guar-un-tee it!"

He draws out the syllables as if he is imitating Cajun chef, Justin Wilson, and I can't help but laugh. "If you say so…you know, I haven't had a partner in a long time, Jasper."

"Well, Edward has never had partner in the field, period. Matter of fact, he's never been one much for partnerships off the job, either, if you know what I mean. He was more of a…man about town…shall we say."

"So, you're saying that he was sleeping with half of it? Now, why doesn't that surprise me?"

Jasper laughs in response, "That's one way of putting it, but he is a consummate professional, and he won't let anything jeopardize this mission. I'm sure this arrangement will be an adjustment for both of you, but you'll work it out. Trust me. If you can't trust me, trust Alice. That girl has a knack for knowing the unknowable."

Suddenly, I feel strangely comforted by Jasper's mere presence. It's nice. I can see how Alice was so completely charmed by him.

"Speaking of that, it seems that you two have picked right back up where you left off years ago."

He glances sideways seemingly curious as to what I'm asking. "Yes. We have. Alice is a great girl."

That isn't even remotely good enough for me, so I turn and square-off facing him head-on, crossing my arms over my chest, "Look, Jasper. I know we don't know each other, but that woman is my dearest friend. If your intentions aren't…"

Jasper lays a single finger over my lips, effectively silencing me, "Save it, Sparky. I assure you that my intentions toward Ms. Brandon are wholly honorable. She is extremely fortunate to have such a loyal and protective friend such as you. You don't have to worry, I'll take good care of her, I promise."

With that I refill both of our glasses, and raise mine to him, "That's all I needed to hear, Jaz."

We toast, and he puts his arm around me in his easy way, "Come on, Sparky. Enough with the chores, let's go listen to ol' Jerry Lee Lewis in there."

I slip my feet back into my shoes, and we stroll in and join the party, and I link arms with Alice who looks a bit like she did at the end of our girls' night. _It's a good thing Jaz is such a healthy specimen. He may be carrying Ali to bed tonight!_ We listen as Edward plays, and everyone chats and continues drinking around the piano.

Finishing this peppy ragtime tune, Edward looks up from the keyboard looking oddly shy or sheepish, and inquires, "Requests?"

Clearly, having had a bit too much sangria, both Emmett and Jasper hold up lighters, flames a-blazing.

Jasper yells, "Skynard! Play some Skynard, man!"

Emmett laughs and hollers, "FREEBIRD! Play us some FREEBIRD."

_Damn Southern boys! They always have to show themselves to company!_

I watch as both their jaws drop open when Edward's fingers float effortlessly over the keyboard treating us to the opening strains of Lynyrd Skynard's Freebird. Then, my jaw drops when he opens his mouth and I hear his velvety baritone croon, "If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me…"

_Holy Fucking Hell!_ I am transfixed. Will this man ever cease to surprise me? _How does an English public schoolboy know letter and verse of an American southern rock anthem? There is clearly more to T-Squared than meets the eye._ Color me, albeit grudgingly, impressed. _Now, if he busts out a rousing rendition of Sweet Home Alabama, Alice and Angela will have to pick me up off these expensive Italian marble tiles. What was that mantra, again?_

a/n –

BritSpeak:

**ARSE ABOUT FACE**: Doing something back to front, or bass ackwards/ass backwards.

**HANDBAGS:** A harmless fight usually between women, but apparently dates back to the 1980s when Margaret Thatcher was Prime Minister bossing her all male all Old Etonian cabinet.

**ON THE PISS:** Getting drunk

**PUBLIC SCHOOL vs. STATE SCHOOL:** In the UK, public schools are fee-paying schools, or the equivalent to what we call private school. State schools are government-funded, and akin to our public schools. However, not all fee-paying schools are considered public schools. There is a long tradition among public schools, and they tend to appeal the more affluent.

For those not acquainted with Gracie Hart: http:/www(dot)youtube(dot)com/watch?v=JB9l3B6dWS8&NR=1

**By now you know that OLR doesn't roll without the Oz posse: Kristi28 (Ms. Betalicious), laurasfirsttime (OLR webmistress/best ficsis around and all around crafty bone), unconditionally (our lovable wussperv-in-residence), and wonderful pre-readers: jenniferlyn. 215 (Our BoA maestro and Tin(wo)Man), MrsTheKing (Our Oz, of course), distant. dream118 (not only a munchkin, but my fic soulmate), and jslack (well, as author of Vegas Baby, she's keeper of the gates of the Emerald City, of course). I adore each and every one of these fabulous women, and we wouldn't be on this journey without them.**

**myimm0rtal validates OLR on Twi'd, and is equally fab.**

**Edwardia Maven keeps me honest with all things British. OLR wouldn't be what it is without her careful eye, and attention to detail. Thank you will never, ever be enough.**

**Because I am a writing fool at the moment trying hard to catch up for you all, my do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for this week comes to us from an OLR reader, EdBellaFan. It is called Some Life in Me by Pinkpixiechick on FF or just Pixiechick on Twi'd. I have to come clean and let you know that I've only read the summary and the first few paragraphs so far, but when EdBellaFan rec'd it to me I **knew** it had to be good. Enjoy!**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	14. Chapter 13: The Assignment

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 13 is: ****100% ****wussperv safe and approved. As I first warned in Chapter 11, things are about to get bit less safe, warm, and fuzzy for this crew, but not in this chapter. **

_When last we left our merry band of marauding spooks, they were blowing off a bit of steam by enjoying a bit of sangria, tapas, and paella-laced debauchery. Edward was trying to corner Bella about wedding rings that happen to be pricey family heirlooms while she was clinging to Jake's rings much to Edward's shock and disappointment. Emmett was admonishing Bella to play nice if she values her career, and followed that by gifting her with a surprising and useful piece of jewelry. Rosalie was chastising Emmett for presumably cuddling in a corner with Bella. Alice coerced Edward into a one-man concert. Jasper declared his intentions for Alice, and the whole crew got drunk, stupid, and had a raucous time of it._

BPOV

At 0900, most of our motley crew is once again assembling in the large briefing room at MI6 headquarters. Jenks, Crowley, O'Shea, and Cheney all look like they might hurl at any moment, while Yorkie's and Newton's eyes are so bloodshot I suspect they may quite literally be seeing red. Angela seems to be sipping something that I can only deduce must be some funky homeopathic remedy she's brought with her from the states. _Typical Angela._ In fact, nearly the entire team looks a bit worse for wear. Well, all of them who've managed to turn up this morning, that is.

As I scan the room, I notice Jasper entering with his laptop and a thick file. I also notice that both James and Edward are conspicuously absent. Alice, ever the fashion plate, has topped off yet another fetching ensemble with a matching Pucci scarf and ginormous dark sunglasses that make her look like an enigmatic cross between a chic, ingénue of 1950's cinema and a bug. As always, Alice scoffs at the concept of appropriate office attire. _Ever the drama queen, Ali. The woman cracks me up._ She always looks like she'd be more at home on Madison Avenue or Rodeo Drive, than in any sterile briefing room. Clearly, not unlike the rest of us, she's masking the telltale signs of raucous, sangria-laced all-night sexual escapades, a hangover, or both. I can't help but chuckle to myself.

With my own hellish version of Meet the Parents about to unfold, a little girl time is definitely in order for Ali and me. Retro queen that I am, I forego texting her and quickly jot a note asking her if we can have a little one-on-one time after the briefing on the legal pad in front of me. I also ask if she has a suitable meet the 'rents outfit for me. I rip the paper from the legal pad and fold it in half. Catching Alice's eye, I slide it across the table to her. Alice opens the note and reads it slowly behind her dark glasses. Looking up at me, she nods enthusiastically. In fact, she nods a little too enthusiastically. _Holy Fucking Hell. Give Edna an inch; she'll take a motherfucking fashion mile. Fuck. My. Life. I may regret soliciting the fashion consult._

Curiously, even Emmett and Rosalie are looking uncharacteristically disheveled and conspicuously sheepish this morning. _Well, well, well…that little development will require further investigation. _Is it possible that the British Barbie is falling prey to the charms of the Tennessee Farm Boy? _ Could it possibly be? I can't believe it. _If so, that didn't take long, now did it?_ Well, I do declare, Master Emmett, I may very well have underestimated the power of your knee-weakening dimples, cleft chin, and the lingering hint of that irresistible Southern drawl. _

_Ahhh…the morning after: all signs of a successful soirée. _Emmett can't possibly accuse me of not being a team player after last night. _Hopefully, this will keep him off my back for the time being._ As hostess, all this delights me much, much more than it should. I can't help but be quite pleased with myself. _After all, all wet jobs, endless assignments, and no play, make Bella a very, very dull and surly girl, not to mention a tad trigger happy._ Of course, now it's time to set the fun and games aside and get down to business.

Interestingly, the only person on either team who doesn't look the least bit hung-over or worse for wear is Jasper: our very own Walker, Texas Ranger. Funny that Jasper's codename is Ranger; he does have a bit of that Chuck Norris mystique about him. _You know what they say: Chuck Norris doesn't throw up after a long night of partying, he throws down! _Giggling inwardly, I can't help but apply the Chuck Norrisism to Jasper. He's ripe for it. No wonder Ali pined for him all those years.

Make no mistake; Jasper drank as much as or more than any of us last night. As he paces the front of the briefing room awaiting the stragglers as if he's stalking big game, he definitely looks like he's fully prepared to throw down. That's more than I can say for the rest of us.

Taking him in, Jasper and Ol' Iron Chuck are not so physically similar, except for the implied twelve-pack that must rest under his well-tailored duds. Jasper is taller, leaner, and more clean cut than Ol' Chuck. With those closely cropped, blonde locks, deep baby blues, and that mischievous grin, Jasper Whitlock casts a striking silhouette. Of course, his sense of style dwarfs Chuck's after spending several years in London, and most recently, under Alice's influence. Jasper clearly left his shit kickers and Stetson in Texas where they belong. No one would dispute: Ranger is quite dapper in the European sense of the word.

Unfathomably, Jasper looks fresh, well-rested, and eager to start our briefing. Not to mention, the tall, blonde Texan has clearly taken command of the room, and there is no denying that he wears it extremely well. On top of that, it's quite obvious that Alice has dressed him for today's briefing. Having spent entirely too much time with Edna E. Mode, I recognize that Jaz is clearly fashion forward in his well-tailored, deep gray Harris Tweed, dark suit, and the boldly striped silk tie that Alice has lovingly picked out for him. Make no mistake, Alice's Captain Handsome is in complete command, and that is sexy as hell. It is also not lost on me that certain tones in Jasper's tie are subtly mimicked in Alice's Pucci scarf. _Go Ali! In Alice's world, putting her fashion mark on Jasper is clearly akin to an Alpha male marking his territory. My girl clearly knows how to stake her claim, however subtly._

Even with her eyes shaded by her dark glasses, there's no hiding that Alice cannot take her eyes off her man. Undeniably, Jasper is a long, tall, blonde, and well-muscled, Texan drink of water, and it is no wonder that Alice is completely smitten with our resident Texas Ranger, and with good reason. Beyond the obvious, I can't help but wonder what his story is. Mr. Whitlock remains a bit of a mystery. He has an extremely relaxed and calming presence that I am quite certain must be a great asset when he's strategizing and guiding field operations. After my brief exchange with him in Emmett's kitchen last night, it's clear that his Southern charm and impeccable manners are irresistible. _His mama raised him right, this much is clear. _What is also crystal clear is that he is completely smitten with our Alice, and has nothing but the utmost honorable Southern intentions toward her. This makes me heave a huge sigh of relief, despite knowing little else about our mysterious Ranger.

Looking around the briefing room, I notice that James has joined Jasper at the front of the briefing room looking as smug and self-satisfied as ever. Curiously, T-squared is still conspicuously absent. With any luck, true to form, he'll slide in just as Jasper is starting today's briefing leaving little or no time for anything more than an exchange of pleasantries. _Hope springs eternal_.

If I'm honest, I've been successfully avoiding him since our exchange in the kitchen over those blasted wedding rings. It was likely obvious by the end of the evening, but I didn't really care. With Emmett breathing down my neck about playing nice and making this arrangement work; T-squared acting so twitchy about those damned rings; and the 'meet the parents' outing looming, I was not looking forward to continuing that discussion. Hell, I wasn't looking forward to continuing any discussion with that man at this point. _Truth be told, whenever he's around, I wind up uncharacteristically tongue-tied and unable to think straight. I have no fucking idea how Emmett thought this arrangement could possibly work. There must be a way to maintain a professional distance from one, Special Agent Edward Cullen, and I intend to find it._

I know I can't avoid speaking with him indefinitely, but being a creature finely tuned to instant gratification, I eagerly avoided continuing _that_ conversation during the party. In fact, I'd managed to successfully dodge him for the remainder of the evening last night, and I realized that fact did not go unnoticed by him. It's clear that the proverbial ring-toting pigeons would be coming home to roost, and soon. _Why the fuck couldn't he just let the thing with the motherfucking rings go? Why would it even matter to him? I just don't get it. It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Why is London's playboy extraordinaire hell bent on getting his damn rings on my finger?_

As everyone goes about their pre-briefing preparations, feeling fuzzy and distracted, I become lost in reruns of the most amusing events from last night's drunken debauchery as I replay them in my head.

Shortly after our ever-awkward exchange in the kitchen over the wedding rings, Edward completed his panty-dropping rendition of Lynard Skynard's Freebird. Then, he continued taking requests. I can't remember them all, but at one point Tyler and Riley were crooning out a rousing rendition of Danny Boy. At another point, Alice, Angela, and I may or may not have been bellowing out the lyrics to Madonna's Like a Virgin. _Charlie would be so proud. _Even shy Ben Cheney got into the act by serenading Angela with his version of Van Morrison's Brown-eyed Girl, and the entire crew joining in on the sha-la-la-la-ti-das. Amazingly, Edward appeared to keep up and play every request effortlessly, and often sang along, no matter how outrageous the request.

The pièce de résistance of the evening, and proof positive that the entire crew had imbibed entirely too much sangria, had to be when Emmett and Jasper channeled their inner Maverick and Goose. I was to their right, as I overheard the classic dialogue begin.

Jasper elbowed Emmett in the ribs, and it began. "Yo, dude. It's my turn. The bet is twenty dollars. You have to have carnal knowledge…of a lady this time…on the premisessssssss."

To which, Emmett mimicked, "On the premisessssssss."

With that, I know these two are up to no good, and that nothing remotely within the realm of good could come from the drunken asstardiness that was about ensue. Yet, being in it for the entertainment value alone, I did nothing to stop them. _Sue me. I knew the longer T-Squared was occupied; the longer I could escape the Spanish inquisition that was sure to happen once he managed to corner me again._

Without missing a beat, Jasper quips, "Come on Em, a bets a bet."

Emmett seamlessly comes back with, "I don't know, Jaz. It doesn't seem fair to you, bud." He throws his arm around Jasper's shoulder, heaves a heavy sigh, and levels his gaze on Rosalie, but directs his comment back to Jasper, "But she's lost that loving feeling."

_It's clear to me that this is not the first time they've reenacted this classic, little cinematic routine. All they need are some dress whites._

Clearly playing it up for dramatic effect, Jasper looks aghast. "Oh man, oh no she hasn't. She hasn't lost that lovin' feeling." At this, I hear Alice giggling uncontrollably at my side, clearly in on a joke that I have not been privy to up to this point.

Emmett retorts, "Oh yes, she has. She's lost that loving feeling."

Jasper sighs, "I hate it when she does that."

I can't help but chuckle to myself, suddenly realizing what they're up to with this one. As if in slow motion, I watched Emmett stalk across the room as if he was hunting big prey, and he was. Before she knows what hit her, the ever proper, albeit scandalized, British Barbie was slung over Farm Boy's shoulder effortlessly, despite her protests, and was unceremoniously dropped atop the baby grand piano that Edward had claimed as his own more than an hour ago. I thought I heard Em quote Bette Davis, as he whispered in Butcher Barbie's ear, telling her to hold on because she was in for a bumpy ride, but I couldn't be sure.

Before I could take another breath, Emmett croons, "You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips…"

Jasper sidled up beside Emmett and sang, albeit a tad reluctantly, "and there's no tenderness, like before in your fingertips."

"You're trying hard not to show it…"

Then, the entire gang got involved. In unison, they drunkenly wailed, "Baby…. But baby, believe me, I know it.…" Then the entire party got into the act, making a clearly tipsy Rosalie blush crimson and seem quite unhinged as Edward jumped into the act, and accompanied the lot of them. The scene was quite amusing to me as I was quite sure that ol' Rosie hadn't blushed since Margaret Thatcher was in office. _Score one for the Yanks!_

Just then, the room erupts in laughter drawing me from my hazy, hung-over recollections from last night's debauchery. Clearly, O'Shea has been telling a joke of some sort, but in my daydreaming I've missed it. Just then, I feel someone slide into the seat to my left. Using my peripheral vision, I quickly look to my left, and my breath catches in my throat. T-squared is looking positively delectable in an impeccably tailored slate suit, and crisp black shirt. I can't help but notice that he is looking particularly roguish with his tie conspicuously absent.

Like Alice, he is still sporting dark shades. The irony of this isn't lost on me in either case. _Really? Who wears dark shades in London in January? A gray, rainy day in January no less, and a Londoner at that!_ Neither of them is fooling anyone. Of course, I give Alice a wider berth, because I know she thinks she's making some sort of fashion statement, and originates from much sunnier climes. T-Squared, however, has made it clear that he was born and raised in London. _Why the fuck does he even own sunglasses, and feel the need to whip them out on rainy day in mid-January? Yet another detail about the man that makes absolutely no sense to me. The only logical conclusion is that he is nursing a wicked hangover._ This amuses me, probably more than it should.

Before I can take another breath, T-Squared leans in closely…too closely, and I suddenly feel flushed and intoxicated by his irresistible scent. I feel his breath caressing my earlobe, and teasing along the slope of my neck. I shiver involuntarily in response as he chuckles softly and drawls in that distinctive lilt that makes my innards turn to goo, "Good morning, Special Agent Swan. You're looking quite well this morning, if, a wee bit distracted."

_Holy Fucking Hell. Head in the game, Bella. Veins…ice water…veins…stat!_ "Good morning, Special Agent Cullen." I turn to face him flashing him an award-winning smile that I hope he doesn't notice doesn't quite reach my eyes. In response, he takes his glasses off and suavely slides them into his jacket pocket. I can't help but smirk back at him, because despite the fact that he unspeakably gorgeous and utterly fuckable, he looks wrecked. His deep, green eyes are bloodshot and a bit glassy. Not to mention, the boy is sporting an irresistible, shadowy stubble along the planes of his exquisitely sharp jawline. _Well then, Ol' T-squared is either more hungover than the rest of us, or he's turned up still inebriated! T-squared looks like he might be working on an actual beard. Hungover, grizzly T-Squared. Nice. Very professional. _I can't help but smile, shake my head, and lean in closer, physically unable to resist baiting him in response, "And you look like you had entirely too much fun last night, English."

Smirking, he replies, "Indeed, Madam. Indeed." Before I can form a retort, his smile broadens. "Of course, I think we could top that if we put our minds to it."

With that, Jasper clears his throat, and looking entirely in command of the situation, signals that he's ready to start the day's briefing. Once again, I'm feeling the need to put some distance between us, and I lower my head, focus on the legal pad in front of me, and let my hair form a dark impenetrable curtain between us.

EPOV

Inexplicably, my breath catches in my throat. As ever, she is a vision. She is a clearly hungover vision, but a vision nonetheless. It occurs to me that she could be on death's door inflicted with the most horrific afflictions known to man, and I may very well still think she was the most exquisite creature on the planet. _What are you playing at, Cullen? Get a grip on yourself, man._ Of course, sadly, this exquisite creature is clearly avoiding me. Of this much, I am certain.

After our exchange in the kitchen during the party, Bella conveniently, and quite effectively, kept a fair distance between us for the remainder of the evening. This made finishing our discussion about the rings, or anything else for that matter, utterly impossible. I cannot be sure, but I suspect this was also intentional. Dinner with Carlisle and Esme was looming large, and despite the copious amounts of sangria I consumed, I was on edge. _Bugger! I am still on edge at the thought of introducing Bella to Esme despite the steady drumbeat keeping time on the inside of my skull this morning._

I adore my mum, and I'd rather walk through a bed of burning coals than disappoint her. Of course, Bella is the first woman I've brought home to meet Carlisle and Esme. Ever. Yes, there have been _many_ women. Actually, come to think of it, I've lost count of the number. I know some blokes keep count, but I can't be arsed. I digress. None of those girls were worthy of being presented to my parents.

Come to think of it, I have no bloody idea whether Bella is fit to meet Esme, or not. I know nothing of her other than what I've learned from her dossier, despite what I've gleaned from participant observation. She is quite clever. This much is certain. She is beautiful. This, I cannot deny. She smells so delectable that I find myself draw close to her just to catch a hint of her allure. She is a skilled and competent agent; I've watched her train. I've seen her in action. Beyond that, I have no opinion. No opinion, indeed. _Of course, I've conveniently omitted how the gentle swell of her breast draws my attention whenever she is in the room, how the curve of her hips sway when she walks, or how I increasingly find myself wondering what makes her warm and wet in spite of myself. Alas, I digress._

Of course, she's met Carlisle, and he seems quite taken with her, but it's Mum who counts. I cannot fathom that she and Esme will not get on famously, because Bella is exquisite even if she is American. Of course, this is yet to be seen. It's a bit ironic that Mum has been chasing me around trying to get me to get settled, with Rosalie in particular, but may bond with a woman she thinks is to be my wife, when in actuality, she's merely bonding with my work partner. I cannot fathom what my father is thinking, having us introduce Bella to Mum. It seems nonsensical and potentially hurtful to Mum. Throwing the family rings into the mix is even more perplexing. Perhaps the old boy is going mad. Yet and still, knowing my mother well, I do know that Mum would be horribly disappointed if Bella did not wear the family rings: charade, or no. _ How am I going to get her to wear the family rings for Esme's sake? I haven't an effing bloody clue._

Of course, this at least partially, explains why Carlisle insisted I take them. I didn't want to have to explain this to her or Carlisle despite the fact that this so-called marriage is an absolute farce engineered to serve the good of Queen, Country, and the Cullens. While dad is much more forthcoming with Mum than most assets are with their spouses, I can't be sure whether he's revealed the true nature of my relationship with Bella. I can't help but laugh, albeit internally, at that. Relationship? Beauty and I had barely been properly introduced, and I am describing us as being in a "relationship." The entire situation is ludicrous. The trouble is I have no explanation for why Beauty wouldn't accept the rings, and that bloody ring box is burning a hole in my trouser pocket.

Sliding in beside her, I take in her beauty, her scent, her essence. Before I can greet her, Riley disrupts my reverie by announcing to the group, "Jaysus I'm like lego this mornin'…in bits."

Leave it to the Irish to say what everyone in the room was feeling. As O'Shea and Crowley high five each other, the entire group dissolves into laughter, and I take the opportunity to lean in close, tempted to bury my nose in Beauty's hair. Breathing in, I am assaulted by the scent of strawberries and cream, a personal favorite, and have to resist the urge to gather her up, carry her out of the briefing room, and shag her senseless.

Regaining control of my faculties, I greet her smoothly, "Good morning, Special Agent Swan. You're looking quite well this morning if a bit distracted."

_Good Lord in heaven, the woman truly is exquisite._

She replies, "Good morning, Special Agent Cullen."

She finally meets my eyes smiling in a way that I'm not quite sure is wholly genuine, but I'll take it for a start. Wanting no filter between her eyes and mine, I slide off the shades that I've been wearing to conceal the fact that I'm hurting this morning, and of course her Mona Lisa smile turns knowing as soon as I remove the specs. I can't help but wonder what is going through that gorgeous head of hers.

Before I can sort myself, or my thoughts, I am assaulted by her scent as she envelops me, and continues, "And you look like you had entirely too much fun last night, English."

Utterly enchanted, my only reply is, "Indeed, Madam. Indeed."

Breaking our little **tête****-****à****-****tête, Jasper calls the meeting to order, and begins the meeting, "Okay, folks. This is where the rubber meets the road, literally and figuratively. We've found the surviving Volturi brothers. They've retreated to their stronghold in Italy."**

**At that point, the American I've had the least contact with chimes in, "While the official headquarters for Volturi **Enterprises, Ultd. are in Rome, the Volturi compound and true nerve centre is in Volterra, Italy, a small town in Tuscany. We've spotted both of them there within the past 48 hours. It appears that they've returned home to regroup and lick their wounds."

Nodding to the American whose name I cannot seem to recall, Jaz continues, "Of course, storming the Citadel that is the Volturi stronghold is not our initial aim. That will gain us little. They are publicly unimpugnable, and going in naked and newborn will gain us nothing."

At this, the thus unnamed American chimes in, "What we need is incontrovertible proof that the Volturi are thwarting both the US's and the UK's surge in Afghanistan. We suspect they are feeding resources and arms through to the Taliban, but as yet, we have no proof. Of course, we suspect their tentacles extend much broader and deeper into disparate threats to both the US and the UK. However, it appears, based upon what Cheney has picked up from chatter on the interwebs, that the situation in Afghanistan is most critical at the moment."

With this, Jasper interrupts and adds, "What we need is some intel that conclusively confirms the Volturi's involvement in thwarting the US and UK insurgence in Afghanistan. Mind you, if we unearth their involvement in Iraq, Korea, or South America, we will not ignore it. However, our prime directive is to support the joint efforts in the joint-surge in Afghanistan at this point."

Jasper nods to the no-name Yank, and he continues, "Thus far, what we've been able to glean from the commnt, and our sources is that Volturi Enterprises, Unlimited. discretely own a couple of different shell companies that are operating in the horn of Africa. We suspect these shell companies may very well be providing munitions and other support to the Taliban, but we can't be sure. In fact, we have fairly solid unofficial NT that may very well be the case, but we need proof before we can move forward. The costs of a misstep here would be astronomical."

At that, Riley chimes in as only he, and possibly Tyler, will, "Is minic a bhíonn an t-úll go holc ina chroí."

Looking at the puzzled looks around the room, save Tyler, he adds for the benefit of the many, "Many a red apple is rotten to the core."

With the group still eyeing him with exasperation, he adds, "Blessed Mother, people! It means: appearances can be deceiving. These Volturi are clearly masters at putting on airs for the masses, but are rotten at their centre. Isn't that bloody obvious? Holy Mother of Jesus do you lot know nothin'?" Playing it up for effect and looking completely exasperated, he adds, "Saints preserve us!"

With that, once again, the entire team dissolves into laughter at Riley's theatrics. Leave it to O'Shea; he does have a flair for the dramatic.

Jasper tries to corral the room, "Sadly appearances won't give us what we need to take evasive action."

Riley just can't leave well enough alone, "Yes, well, as much as we may suspect that the Volturi are the 2010 version of George Bush Jr's Axis of Evil, we're in a Brown/Obama era now. As such, this requires research, pontification and equivocation before action." This elicits another round of laughter from the group.

While Riley is waxing philosophique, I scan the room assessing the situation, and Jasper clears his throat, "Thank you, O'Shea. You do have a certain finesse in boiling down the situation. As we were saying, the Volturi are quite enigmatic. While we have rumors and innuendos that imply that Aro, Caius, and their multi-national corporation are up to nothing but mischief, murder and mayhem across the globe with the situation in Afghanistan being their current pet project, rumor and innuendo is all that we have. We need to find out exactly what they are up to, and equally important, why."

As Jasper drones on, I can't help but notice that Beauty's left hand is resting on that archaic legal pad she carries around like a security blanket.

Keeping my attention on Jasper, I surreptitiously slide my hand aside Beauty's and lightly trace her bare ring finger playfully with my index finger sending her a silent message. At first, I feel her relax and almost shift her body toward me, but suddenly, she stiffens. It's clear my caress is unexpected, but I cannot be sure whether it is unwanted, so I pursue softly stroking her left ring finger suggestively. I am clearly sending a message. Unfortunately, she looks up at me as if I am the spawn of Satan and glares at me. Sadly, she withdraws before I can manage to draw her hand under the table and entwine my fingers with hers. Before I can even comprehend what's happening, she's grabbed my fingers and dragged my arm under the table. The next thing I know my fingers are in a vice-like grip hidden from view. She's bending my hand back and twisting my fingers to the point that it feels like she will break them, and it hurts like effing hell!

Oddly enough, in a room full of assets no one seems to notice the exchange happening between Beauty and me. I can't resist making her squirm and decide to bait her a little more. I relax into her grip, lean in again, and whisper softly so only she can hear, "You know, if you want to hold hands with me, all you really need to do is ask, darling."

With that, her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink, and she releases my hand as if it has scorched her, and lets those lovely mahogany locks form a curtain between us once again.

We both perk up when we hear Jasper say our names, "…you two will be on a plane to Rome day after tomorrow, so be sure to have your affairs in order before then."

With that Angela smiles and slides an itinerary and receipt for our e-tickets across the conference room table along with what looks to be a confirmation for lodging reservations at a lovely hotel that I know well.

I hear Beauty inhale sharply, and inquire to no one in particular, "These are one way tickets. How long do you expect us to be in the field?"

Jasper responds, "We can't be sure, Bella. We also can't be sure that you'll automatically be returning to London. Hence, the one way ticket. A lot of what happens next depends upon what you find in Italy."

Bella and I both nod, and Jasper continues, "Remember, you are travelling as newlyweds, and the trip to Rome must appear to be your honeymoon. Be tourists. While you're being tourists, you are to see what you can pick up on from being near the Volturi HQ. At this point, there are no plans for you to travel to Volterra. That is an unnecessary and dangerous risk to take this early in the operation."

Bella asks, "If Aro and Caius are in Volterra, won't it be more likely that we'd be able to gather more reliable information by getting close to them?"

"You will get close to them, indirectly. When you arrive in Italy, and after you've taken a few days to present yourselves as blissful newly-wedded tourists, you will take a day trip south of Rome to Fiuggi. There you will stay at a pension that is owned by Eleazar and Carmen Moretti. They also have an adjacent property that serves as a safe house. Eleazar and Carmen have been with MI6 for over twenty years. Most of that has been under deep cover. Most recently, Eleazar was imbedded with Volturi Enterprises, Ultd. for seven of those years."

This is news to me, "Didn't the Moretti's turn up anything conclusive on the brothers?"

At this point Rose chimes in, "As a matter of fact, it was through Eleazar's contacts within the Volturi's inner circle that tipped us off that Marcus had acquired the American's disc."

Bella pipes up, "Why did Eleazar leave VE, Ultd.?"

Jasper responds, "Good question, Bella. Aro took a shine to Eleazar. This is as we'd hoped, and we thought Eleazar would gain entrée into the Volturi brothers' inner circle. Unfortunately, as Aro began to grow closer with Eleazar, Caius became increasingly suspicious. Caius never found anything on Eleazar, but he kept a very close eye on him. We started to fear for Eleazar's and Carmen's safety, so we set them up with the pension and safe house, and Eleazar was able to leave VE Ultd. on good terms saying that he wanted to support his wife's dream of opening a pension."

The nameless Yank continues, "They still have contacts on the inside, and most recently have made contact with someone who is working for the French at Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure. The Morettis will help you make countact."

Jasper finishes with, "As we previously established, all equipment and weapons will be delivered via dead drop, and Carmen will have them waiting for you when you arrive in Fiuggi. Any questions?"

Neither Bella nor I speak, so Jasper nods, "Alrighty then, seeing none, we'll adjourn. I'll be around if something comes up between now and when you leave for Rome."

The room starts to clear. Beauty gathers her things without saying a word to me, and turns to leave with Alice. _This woman is always running away from me. Why is that?_ Before she can get away I stand, grab her hand, and pull her close to me. "Not so fast, where are you rushing off to in such a hurry?"

She glares at my hand holding hers, and quips back, "Not that it is any of your business, but Alice and I have a meeting, and have much to do to prepare for our departure."

I smirk at her in reply, "Au contraire dear _wife_, you are my business now, and don't forget that we have dinner with your in-laws this evening. I will pick you up at 1930 hrs sharp."

Before I can continue baiting her, she rolls her eyes at me and pulls her hand away, "Why don't you let me mind my business, and you mind your own, and we'll have a much better shot at getting along, English. I'll be ready at 1930. Pick me up at Alice's flat."

With that she is out the door with Alice, and I can't help but wonder if I would spend this entire mission chasing after this woman.

BPOV

Needing to blow off some steam, I leave Alice to head to her flat promising that I'll join her in a couple of hours. She babbles something about packing my bags and rushes off. I make a beeline for the gym before I shower, and head to Alice's flat for a bit of girl time before Edward picks me up for dinner with his parents.

Within minutes, I've taped up my hands and I'm taking out my frustration on the medicine bag. I'm so focused that I almost don't hear Newton come through the door.

Mike silently slides around behind the medicine bag, grabs it, and holds it in place. "C'mon Bella, let me have it."

"You're a glutton for punishment. You know that, Newton?" I jab and kick while Mike just smiles brightly, and shakes his head. He steadies the bag goading me into pounding it harder.

"So, you and Cullen, huh?"

"It's an assignment, Mike. It's just a job. We're both professionals, and there is a job to be done. You know that as well as I do: nothing more." With that, I gave the bag another kick and jabbed twice.

"That's not what it looked like during the briefing today, B."

With that, I counter, "What was that O'Shea said today? Appearances can be deceiving."

"Well, I don't like it."

"That's neither here nor there. We're here to do a job, and you're as committed to the job as anyone I know, so quit your whining. You have your role, and I have mine."

"You're going to go off to God-knows where, into Lord only knows what sort of danger without the team there as back-up, and I don't trust that pompous British ass to have your back, B. I just don't trust him. He could just leave you flapping in the wind, or worse."

With that, reacting instinctively and defensively: shocking myself, I inexplicably lay a hard kick to the side of the bag purposefully catching Mike in his side, hitting him precariously close to his kidney. Mike suddenly drops the bag, and grabs his side. I stand upright, and level a harsh stare at him.

"First of all, we do know where. The first stop is Italy. Second, you don't have to trust him Mike, I do. You're not going to be in the field with him, I am. Third, I can handle myself. I don't need Cullen, you, or anyone else falling over himself getting in my way in some misguided effort to be chivalrous. I take care of myself. I'm in charge of, and can handle my own shit, Mike. You know me better than that."

Recalling my exchange with Edward earlier in the day, I feel my ire flame, and the heat rises enflaming my cheeks crimson. I don't need a mirror to know that I'm as red as a beet, and not from exertion. Mike steadies the bag again. I jab twice and kick hard, causing Mike to flinch ever-so-slightly. This makes me smile inwardly knowing that the message was received.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you trust him? Because I have to be honest, B, I'm not so sure."

I sigh feeling a pang that I can only begrudgingly describe as longing, "Honestly, I don't even know him. How can I possibly trust him? Be fucking serious, Newton."

Looking defeated, Mike hangs his head, shaking it from side to side. "This is so fucked up. I should be the one going with you, B."

I sigh, feeling both exhausted and exasperated by his antics and persistence. I can't believe that I actually feel bad for him. _What the fuck is up with me? Why am I channeling Mother Theresa all of a sudden? What the fuck is up with this shit? _"First of all, you're not exactly Mr. Incognito with your jarhead haircut, ripped bod, and well-used camos. I'm not even going to mention the one-size-too-small Sempre Fi and USMC tees."

Mike smirks at me cherry picking the bit he wants to hear, "Ripped bod, ay?"

I roll my eyes back at him, not dignifying him with a response. "They'd spot us coming from a mile away, bucko. Hellooooooo…earth to GI Joe, undercover is not your thing, bud. You know that. Stick to what you know. We couldn't do without your munitions expertise, military connections, and other various and sundry talents. Man-up, soldier; we need you where you are."

"Umm…Bella? Point of order: GI Joe wasn't fit for the Corps. He wasn't a Marine; he was an Army pussy."

"Easy there, Trigger. Charlie was an Army man. Do not _EVEN_ tell me that you are going to bash my beloved father, or anyone who sacrifices to serve for the RW&B. I won't be hearing that competitive bullshit. I am Switzerland where the branches of the Armed Services are concerned." With that, I land another blow near his kidney.

I set up for another jab, "Not only that, there were, in fact, GI Joe's that were Marines." I exhale slowly feeling the festering wound awaken, and I say quietly, "Jake had a whole set of them growing up. So, clearly you are misinformed about your military action figures, Newton."

Mike gasps from the blow, and eyes me looking inconsolable, "Damnit, Bella. That's not what I meant, well, not completely what I meant, and you know it. When are you going to come to your senses, and give us a shot?"

The disjointed segue takes my breath away, "Mike, c'mon man. Don't start this, again. I would chew you up and spit you out, and you know it. Face it, I'm a bitter shrew. We both know I'm not cut out for domesticity, and you're too good a guy to put up with my bullshit. You need a good girl to come home to; who gives you babies, Sunday supper, and regular blow jobs. I'm so not that girl, bud. I'd make you miserable, and besides, we're much better off as sparring partners."

"Either you are incapable of seeing yourself clearly, or that was about the sorriest excuse for an _it's not you, it's me_ that I've ever heard. You do know that bullshit is just an overused cliché, don't you? It really only means _it's not you…full stop_."

Feeling my cheeks flame as I match his agitation, "I didn't say that. Do people really say that shit outside of ridiculous, estrogen-soaked chick flicks?" I can't help but shake my head incredulously.

Grabbing my towel, I head for the door to head up to the flat, and get a shower before heading to see Alice, "Why don't you go out and find yourself a nice British girl, and have a little fling while you're here. You'll forget about me in no time. The accent alone should be enough to get you off." _Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything. Holy Fucking Hell._

I hear Mike sigh as he watches me walk away, "Yeah, yeah, I'll get right on that."

I smile back at him, and get the last word in as always, "Good. Glad to hear it. Get on it, soldier!"

Before I escape, Mike stops me, "Bella?"

Sighing, I look back and respond, "Yeah, Mike?"

Looking over my shoulder I see his pained expression, "Are we good?"

I smile at him reassuringly. _Holy motherfucking hell, this boy is high maintenance, but fuck, he's a good guy, a fan-fucking-tastic asset, and I like him in spite of myself so I acquiesce, because I want us to be okay. That and I need him. He's a trusted colleague and a good friend. Most important, I know he has my back. In this business, that's as good as gold. _

"Yeah, Mike. We're good. Never better, pal."

**a/n –**

**For all of you who continue to stick with this fic despite all the bumps I've hit in the road along the way, I am awed and eternally grateful. I owe you all a huge apology for not getting back on a regular schedule. A harried period at work and home combined with a bout of writer's block conspired against me. If you are still along for the ride, I thank you. I am working hard to get us back on regular updating schedule, and I'll keep you posted on that front.**

**As ever, I adore my Oz posse: the betalicious Kristi28 is now being joined by my wonderful TwiCounsel Mentor, loveofescapism, who will joining Kristi on beta duties; my ficsis and web/blog mistress, laurasfirsttime; wussperv-in-residence, unconditionally; and my fab pre-readers: jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, jslack, wuogkat and Maylin. Not to be forgotten myimm0rtal validates OLR on Twi'd. Thank you will never, ever be enough, but it's all I've got.**

**Okay, my do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for update is called Guardian by ChampagneAnyone. It's one of my new faves. Of course, I'm doing less reading and more writing these days, these recs may be tougher to come by for a while. Enjoy!**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	15. Chapter 14: Duplicity

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 14 is: ****99% ****wussperv safe and approved. As I first warned in Chapter 11, things are about to get bit less safe, warm, and fuzzy for this crew, but not in this installment. The scariest thing in this chapter is Alice wielding a hair dryer and cosmetics. **

_**I adore each and every one of you that are reading OLR. With my slow as molasses in January in Juneau (as Ranger would say) updating pattern, I'm stunned that so many of you are still with me. You are amazing and fabulous, and you humble me. Thank you so much for reading and for all your supportive and encouraging reviews. I adore each and every one of you. See you down below!**_

_When we were last with our very own TTward and Assassinella, they were both nursing wicked hangovers after a clearly delightful and debaucherous soiree along with the rest of their joined teams. B is doing her best to dodge E, and E, well E is doing his best to corner B, and sweet talk her into wearing some outrageously decadent family rings for Esme's sake. B, who is still nursing lingering wounds over losing her first love, is having none of it and keeps dodging our boy. Jasper, our very own Walker, Texas Ranger incarnate, was in his element leading the most recent team briefing and revealing key tidbits about the brothers Volturi. Of course, James served as his creepy number one in this very significant team briefing. B&E are instructed to prepare for their first stop on their mission: a Roman honeymoon, but not before B is nonsensically coerced into meeting Esme! Oh, and Newton just couldn't keep his big ex-Marine mouth shut, and just had to shamelessly throw himself at B one more time. To bastardize a quote from Ann Richards: Poor Newton, he can't help it. He was born with a steel-toe boot in his mouth! Without further ado…._

BPOV

After yet another bizarre little exchange with Newton, I head up to my flat and quickly shower. I don't even bother to dry my hair. I just wash my face; scrub my teeth; moisturize from head to toe; throw on my favorite gray yoga pants, my UW tshirt, and my gray hoodie, and head over to Alice's flat.

She ushers me in, positively vibrating with excitement as only Alice can, "Come in…come in! What took you so long? I thought you'd never get here!"

Before I can breach the threshold, Alice has me in a hug that could defeat a Vulcan death grip, and I can barely breathe.

I manage to choke out, "Well, if Newton had his way, I wouldn't have."

"Oh no, is GI Joe turning into the sad, poky little puppy dog again? I was afraid this might happen now that Edward is on the scene."

I nod in reply, remembering the timeless children's tale. "You guessed it. The old boy is definitely acting like his strawberry shortcake is being bogarted by his littermates! What does Edward have to do with it, though?" Knowing the answer to my own question, I suddenly feel uncomfortable with the direction that the conversation is turning and continue, "Gah! I don't even want to talk about it. Let's change the subject. How goes things with you and Texas Pete, Ali?"

Initial probing is immediately forgotten as Ali smiles wide, and that familiar mischievous glint shimmers in her eye as she swoons, "Hot and spicy! Just the way I like it. We picked up right where we left off just like I always knew we would!" Neither of us can help but giggle like school girls at that both knowing the loaded meaning in her response. Before I can probe further, she advances, "What I want to know is how goes things with you and Cary Grant?"

Not liking the turn the conversation is taking, I counter, "Hey now! Not so fast, Edna! No changing the subject. I want details! You and Walker, Texas Ranger, seemed pretty cozy at the party. Say nothing of the minor detail that you and he have been sneaking off together at every possible opportunity…oh, and he gushed about you to me in the kitchen, by the way."

She looks up through her eyelashes, once again seeming uncharacteristically unsure, "He did?"

Smiling and nodding in response, I reply, "He did. Not only that, but he's clearly very smitten with you, and made no bones about his oh-so-honorable intentions, my dear friend. This, as it turns out, is quite fortuitous for ol' Ranger. I was fully prepared to castrate him and display his bangles on a silver platter. If I detected even a hint that his intentions were less than honorable, ol' Ranger would have suffered a dismemberment of a different sort!"

Seemingly ignoring the last bit of my diatribe, Alice grins from ear to ear looking quite like the proverbial cat who swallowed the canary, and I know she's dying to dish about her very own Ranger, or as she likes to call him, Captain Handsome. She sighs looking positively blissed-out, "It's good, Belly…it's really, really good…it's beyond good; I have no words for how good it is."

I can't resist, "So what you're telling me is that it's good…"

Alice pelts me with one of the dozen brightly-colored, North African-inspired throw pillows that dot her lush sofas as we turn to settle into her recreated lair. _When she had the time to accessorize and turn her sitting area into a Moroccan love nest, I have no earthly idea. Edna E. Mode works in mysterious ways, that is for sure._ I collapse into her chaise while she silently busies herself among racks of couture.

She's killing me here and the clever, little imp knows it! "And…"

"And I have need of those bangles, so please keep sharp instruments and silver platters away from them!"

I can't help but laugh, "You've got it, Edna. Ixnay on the angles-bay, but your boy better walk the line. Just sayin'."

Not amused, she rolls her eyes at me, "Honestly, B… it's better than I ever imagined it would be. It's like we were never apart. We just picked right back up where we left off in Seattle. It's effortless…kind of like it was with you and Jake, but different?"

I feel that familiar twinge in my gut, but I dare not give myself away. This is Ali's moment, and I won't divert her attention, or ruin it for her. She has waited a long, long time for this after all. I stiffen and control myself before I inquire, "Different how, exactly?"

Caught up in her own bliss, she exhales in a huff not even noticing my distress, "Well, you and Jake grew up together. You two were practically in diapers together. You and Jake were an inevitability. That was abundantly clear to anyone in your orbit. We could all see it, B. Watching you together, you were as effortless with one another as breathing. Jake was the natural course that your life was destined to take. Of that, there was no doubt, and we all knew it."

I swallow hard, and Alice must notice something in my expression and quickly adds, "I'm sorry, Belly! I just meant…."

Exhaling slowly, I struggle to maintain my composure; I know she meant no harm. Yet, I interrupt her before she can dig deeper, "It's okay, Ali." Of course, only I know that isn't even remotely in the realm of being okay for me, but it would be unfair and unforgivably selfish of me to take out my inescapable, lingering grief on Alice. After all, it has been more than a respectable mourning period since Jake's death. I should be over it…long over it. Yet, I'm not. I'm not even remotely within the realm of being over it. Of course, this is a dearly held secret that I try to keep from everyone, even those who are closest to me. They worry about me enough as it is. It doesn't serve any of us for them to be aware how deeply that festering wound still runs through me.

Clearly trying to change the subject, and shift my increasingly glum mood, she whispers as if she is sharing a dearly held secret, "Guess what Jas whispered in my ear when we first saw each other in the briefing room that first day? Guess…just guess."

Wanting so much to support her, be a good friend, and not make this about me yet again, I shake it off and respond with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, yet unable to resist quoting Long Duk Dong from Pretty in Pink fame, "I have no idea, Mary Alice. Ummm, let's see… Awhaaaaassssssa happening, hot stuff! or Hey, sexy girrrrrrrlfriend, let's get out of here, and get you out of those clothes? Ummm, because let's face it…after all, that's pretty much what you did!"

Alice blushes guiltily, and swats me again with another bejeweled throw pillow, "Noooooo! That's blasphemy. Do you think Jas would ever bastardize Long Duk Dong? He's much too smooth for that."

"He's smooth alright. All I know is one minute you two were staring at each other as if you were the only ones in the room, scratch that…the only ones in the known universe, and the next minute, _poof_, you were gone!"

Alice rolls her eyes at me clearly exasperated with my bastardized 80s cinematic outburst, but looks a bit sheepish, nonetheless, "He said, 'You've kept me waiting a long time, darlin'.'"

"And you said…?"

"I said, 'I beg your pardon, Sir. I believe it has been you who has been keeping me waiting for-freaking-ever!' and you know what he did then?"

Knowing full well that at this point in their exchange I was personally very likely smack in the middle of a much less romantic reunion of my very own, and I haven't a clue. "No idea, what did Walker, Texas Ranger, do next?"

Alice sighs as happy tears glisten in her eyes, "He ducked his head like the quintessential Southern gentleman he is, and said, 'I'm sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again; you have my word on that.' And I knew. I knew like you know when you find vintage Chanel in an out of the way thrift shop."

Feeling clueless, I can't help but inquire, "What did you know, Ali?"

"I knew that Jas and I…we're timeless. I know it seems implausible, but I could see our future in his eyes. I knew he was meant for me…always has been meant for me, and he knew I was meant for him…always have been meant for him. It was that simple. Neither of us questioned it. For the first time in six years, I felt _hope, Belly_. I felt hope for something beyond _this_." With that, she sweeps her arms open as if to indicate her tricked-out environs.

Seeing what I'm sure must be my puzzled, and quite possibly pained look, Alice continues, "I mean, don't get me wrong. I love my life, and I love this life. I love my work. I love our work. What we do is important, but I have to say that all my gadgets and couture do not keep me warm at night, and they've not once given me an orgasm! Not. Once."

Once again, I'm unable to resist teasing her. I knowingly quirk my eyebrow and smirk at her, but before the snarky comment that is on the tip of my tongue can even slip past my lips, she silences me, "Haha…very funny, Belly girl. _Those_ are _NOT_ the gadgets I was referring to, and you know it! Besides Memorex is a very pale imitation to the real deal…and Ranger is the real deal, believe me. You'd do well to remember that Miss self-service Sally!"

I can't help but chuckle at her strong reaction, and her slam at my nearly non-existent sex life. I can't help, but admit that she has a point. That aside, Jas clearly has her smitten beyond sense and reason, and has triggered her inclination toward over-sharing and word vomit. Before I can contemplate further, she continues to my astonishment.

"Besides, we're not talking about your every day run-of-the-mill, scratch-an-itch, biological release, here. We're talking blinding-yet-seeing stars, eyes-rolling-into-the-back-of my head, earth-shattering, deity-exclaiming, legs-won't-hold-me-up-afterwards orgasms. In multiples…just sayin.'"

"Well, thanks for that lovely visual to accompany our next team briefing, Ali. Thank you oh so much for that delightful bit of TMI." I can't help but roll my eyes again. _Holy Fucking Hell!_ _Alice and her oversharing: that's all I need. Does she forget that I have to work with the man? Now, whenever I face Jasper in a briefing or otherwise, I'm going to have to fight the image of his magical, mystical, wonder schlong._ _Not to mention the fact that she's completely ruined_ _old Walker, Texas Ranger, reruns for me. Perfect_. "Well, apparently ol' Ranger takes after his namesake. You know what they say… they do say that ol' Chuck Norris, Walker, Texas Ranger, himself, once visited the Virgin Islands. They are now known as simply "the Islands."

Laughing hysterically, and playing along with me Ali chimes in, "Ranger does not have hair on his testicles. Hair does not grow on steel!"

_Oh no…a magical, mystical, wonder schlong and balls of steel. How am I ever going to look Jasper in the eye during a briefing again? Impossible. Holy Motherfuck-my-My-Motherfucking Life!_

Quieting my inner voice, yet not to be outdone, I up the ante, "While having sex in a tractor-trailer, Ranger's sperm escaped and got into the engine. It is now called Optimus Prime."

Alice howls, and dissolves into a fit of giggles, and ekes out, "If you play Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" backwards, you will hear Ranger banging…." She pauses for a moment realizing what she's about to say, and so clearly feeling a bit of discontent and jealousy, "Yeah, scratch that one." With that, her gaze withers and clouds over.

In an attempt to salvage the mood, I offer, "Ranger is always on top during sex because Chuck Norris never fucks up!"

Now, it is Alice's turn to roll her eyes at me, "Well, the perfect not-fucking-up part is correct, but let's just say that Jas appreciates a girl who rides. It must be his Texas upbringing." At that, once again, she smugly looks quite like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"Alrighty then, I did ask for details, didn't I? Silly me."

Getting up to peruse her racks once again, she calls over her shoulder, "You most certainly did. Now, speaking of cowgirls, when are you getting back in the saddle? I'm thinking you should try a bit of English riding, my friend."

Before I can possibly form a response to that nonsense, she blurts, "You know, we joke, but I really think that you can have what Jas and I have…with Edward."

At that, I've reached my limit, "Okay, Ali. Where is this coming from, because this needs to stop? I know you are living in the land of sunshine, unicorns, and Disney princesses at the moment, but alluding to the possibility that anything of the sort could be possible for Edward and me is just ludicrous. I have no idea where that is coming from, but you really do need to stop. We're colleagues. We have a job to do. That is all."

She takes a deep breath, and in her most authoritative tone continues, "B, if you'll listen, I'm just saying…"

I can't stand it. I don't want to hear what she's saying. I can't hear what she's saying. I won't. "Let's change the subject. This clusterfuck of a situation is awkward enough without you trying to play yenta. Forget it, it's impossible. We simply have to tolerate each other long enough to get through this mission successfully without getting one of us killed, or killing each other whichever the case may be. Period. I cannot listen to this when I'm about to go face him and his parents, Ali."

"Right! We have a lot of ground to cover before 1930 hours. That's when Jas said that Edward was picking you up. Hop into my chair."

I smile deviously at her, "Said the spider to the fly…nothing outlandish, or over the top, Edna. I'm warning you!"

"I'm shaking in my boots, Lizzie Borden. Trust me. I have the perfect look in mind. You'll kill."

I smirk in reply, "It's not that sort of job, Edna. At least, it's not that sort of job, yet. Besides, you know I'd never harm a hair on Charlie's head. You know that as well as I do." _…Or Renee's, or Phil's for that matter, someone else took care of that bit._ Mentioning my murdered mother and her husband wouldn't help the mood, so I keep my thoughts to myself. She didn't mean anything by her comment. I know this. She thought she was being playful. She forgets what I witnessed all those years ago, and the impact that it had on me, not to mention what I carry with me into every mission. It's possible that she isn't even aware of how Renee and Phil's deaths still haunt me. I can't hold that against her.

With that, she shakes her head in disbelief and unceremoniously attacks me with hair product and a blow dryer, followed quickly by a palette of face paint that's vaguely reminiscent of the war paint that I've seen at some of the Native American festivals I've attended with Jake and his family. _Damn, that seems like another lifetime now. It's all fuzzy around the edges: me and Jake hand in hand watching the traditional dancing; listening to the tribal legends; Jake wrapping his arms around me and stealing kisses among the throngs of people; and breaking bread and sharing traditional dishes with his family…his tribe._ I can't help but shudder slightly and sigh at the memories as they assault me. My emotions are all over the place tonight, and I'm struggling to hold it together. Alice mistakes this for nerves.

"Deep breaths, Belly. And try to lower your heart rate. Remember your ICBM techniques. You're going to sweat off your new face. Honestly, whatever are you going to do without me?"

I roll my eyes still feeling apprehensive, and somehow like I am betraying Jake by going through with this.

Answering honestly, albeit sarcastically, I respond, "I can never do without you Ali…you are the wind beneath my wings."

Alice ignores my grief and anxiety-laced sarcasm, and knows that somewhere in there that there is an ounce of sincerity in my words. Alice clearly senses my distress, diffuses the tension, and spins me around and hands me an armful of clothes. "Drop 'em and put these on, girly."

I roll my eyes, and do as I'm told slipping out of my yoga pants, hoodie, and t-shirt, sliding on black opaque intricately woven, lace tights followed by a black and white houndstooth pencil skirt that hits just above the knee. Then, clearly knowing my penchant for cashmere, Alice hands me an updated yet still classic cashmere twin set, also in black. I slide the sweaters on, and Alice is standing before me with a set of pearls.

"Oh come on, Edna. I'm meeting his parents, not attending a Junior League meeting!"

Alice huffs in response, "Fine. I knew that the pearls were a long shot but I had to give it a try." She exchanges the pearls for funky silver earrings and a long silver chain with a vintage looking pendant. "Better?"

"Much. How am I ever going to pull this clusterfuck off, Ali. I'm a horrible actress, and an even worse liar."

Alice gives me a reassuring smile and hug, "Ironic given the line of work you're in, isn't it? You worry too much Belly. You're going to go prematurely gray. Turn around and look in the mirror."

Before I catch my reflection, I respond, "This is different, and you know it. In all of our other ops, we're in and out. The deception is finite. I move in the shadows, and make quick work of my target. The job is done, and national security is preserved. Then, we're onto the next mission. This is completely different, and I honestly feel a bit out of my depth here."

"Relax, Belly. You were born to do this, and you and Edward have a natural symmetry between you. I anticipate that you will find being under cover with him easier than you imagine."

I eye her skeptically, and suspiciously quirk an eyebrow in her direction. _When the fuck did she become Team Edward?_ Despite my raging question, I say nothing. I turn and walk toward Alice's full-length mirror, and I have to admit that ol' Edna has outdone herself once again. I look every bit the picture of the type of girl any nice fellow would want to bring home to meet dear old mom. _What a fucking farce this is_. _How does Emmett expect me to get through this?_

"Wow, Edna. You've outdone yourself. Even I'd approve of me in this getup." Looking at my stocking feet, I realize something is missing. "Ummm…but Ali, what about shoes?"

Alice smiles brightly and claps her hands excitedly, "Ahhh… the pièce de résistance! She turns to one of the wardrobes along the wall, and pulls out a pair of tall black leather boots, and my jaw drops, "Now, I defy you to find these at a Junior League meeting, missy. There's absolutely nothing wrong with a little sass! We can't have Edward's parents thinking he's brought home a Stepford bride, now can we?"

Stunned into silence I can only shake my head in reply as she continues.

"Besides, these little beauties marry form with function. Not that you'll need it tonight, and not that you can tell by looking at their exquisiteness, but these are steel toes. I've been saving them for you. Since the climate in Rome in February can still be quite chilly and rainy, so these will likely come in handy. After all, we don't know what you and Edward are walking into when you arrive. Function aside, they are exquisitely crafted, look amazing, and can serve you well if you find yourself in the need to go 'mano-a-mano'. I've had them for awhile, and have been saving them for you for a special occasion. Tonight is that occasion. Not only that, they're hot as hell. Edward won't know what hit him. You may thank me now."

I smile back enjoying her gloating and absolutely loving the boots. Not only that, I'm beyond thankful that she didn't have me in some ridiculous kitten heel. I wrap my arms around her small frame and squeeze her within an inch of her life, "Damn skippy! Have I told you lately how much I love you, Edna? Let's just hope there's no need for the mano-a-mano tonight. That's all I need is to go toe-to-toe with the golden boy's mother. That would be a disaster; I'm guessing behind that devil-may-care, playboy persona that English is quite the mama's boy."

Looking at me sideways, and very clearly trying to bait me, Alice quips, "Yes, well, it may not serve you well to give Mrs. C the beat down, but on the other hand, it might be quite fun to engage Edward in a little hand-to-hand. I'm sure he would not object. Oh and Bella? Don't underestimate a Mama's boy. As Jasper's Momma always says, they often make the best lovers and husbands. If a man treats his mother well, you can be assured that he will very likely also treat you well. You'll do well to remember that little tidbit. According to Jasper, his Momma was a very wise woman, and I happen to agree."

Blinking, I'm not quite sure I'm hearing her correctly, "You've met Jasper's mother?"

"Well no, but we talk on the phone when he calls home to Texas. That's not the point. The point is that you shouldn't immediately write Edward off. He…"

My head is spinning so quickly that I cannot even process what she is saying, so I go for the easy retort, "Zip it, Edna. It ain't happening."

To which, Alice quips, "Methinks the lady doth protest too much!"

Just as I'm rolling my eyes and smoothing my skirt, the bell rings, and Alice looks at her watch, "That, my dear, will be the boys! Put on your game face, Belly girl."

EPOV

Jasper and I arrive at Alice's flat at 1930 sharp, as pre-arranged. Alice opens the door, and welcomes us into her flat. Dispensing with any customary greeting whatsoever, she quickly wraps herself around Jasper like a second skin before he can even manage to slip out of his coat, and properly greet her. Within moments, they each immediately seem lost in each others' eyes, not unlike their first encounter in the briefing room at Six. It's a bit mystifying, really; I can't help but wonder what that must be like. Watching them, I cannot fathom what's afoot here, because despite the steady stream of women that seemingly float in and out of my life. What is passing between Jasper and Alice in this moment is something I have never encountered.

It's quite clear that Jasper is arse-over-teakettle for this woman. I've never seen him like this, not even when he and Rosalie had a go. Of course, that bit of history isn't common knowledge, and I'd be astonished if Jas had revealed that bit to Alice. It's generally easier to keep secrets among a bunch of spooks when something ends before it's really begun. Curiously, Jasper doesn't seem to mind Alice's forwardness, and they are so intimate with one another that I suddenly feel as if I'm intruding on a moment that is not entirely suitable for public consumption. You'd never know that they'd only been reunited a mere four days earlier.

Searching for another point of focus, my eyes scan the room, and settle upon Bella…my Beauty. I catch myself. _Odd that. At what point exactly did she progress from Beauty…to…my Beauty? Search me. This revelation is more than a bit unsettling._ My seemingly sudden and inexplicable possessiveness aside, I still find her exquisite, even though at the moment, she is looking down and studying the toes of her smashing leather boots as if they hold the secrets to the meaning of life, the universe and everything. My eyes scan her length, simply taking her in before she realizes how shamelessly I am ogling her. She is perfect. That skirt, those boots, and the hint of black lacy hosiery that is peaking out from the gap between where her skirt stops and her boots begin may very well too much for me to endure this evening. _Now, that is a gap I wouldn't mind minding._ Presently, minding her gap is giving me the urge to readjust the situation that is unavoidably rising in my trousers. I'm losing myself, and I've not even greeted her properly. My mind spirals, and I begin to lose focus.

_Bloody unbelievable…how is it possible that this woman can render me completely unhinged without uttering a single word, or even hazarding a glance my way. I'm fucked…royally and thoroughly. I will never survive this mission. Before it is all over, it seems quite clear that this one may very well rip me apart and burn the pieces if she could hear my thoughts. However will I manage to keep her safe and myself unscathed with her constantly looking like that? She quite literally drives me to distraction. Why did anyone think this was a good idea…let alone my own father? It's high treason! That's precisely what it is. High treason committed by my very own father…unfathomable! This is utterly impossible. Fucking hell! This mission is doomed before it's begun. This woman will surely be the death of me. It's quite possible that she will be the death of both of us, and I will be powerless to prevent it._

Suddenly I realize I'd forgotten my manners as an interminably awkward pause stretches out between us. Clearly, the farce we're about to embark upon with my parents combined with the issue of the family rings still looming have me uncharacteristically on knife's edge. Pulling myself from the jumble of thoughts racing through my mind, I force myself to look back to her, and find that she's lifted her gaze. She's looking at me expectantly, and I suddenly realize that she has said something that I didn't quite catch, so I seek to recover without looking like a complete imbecile, "Pardon?"

Waiting for her response, I clear my throat, and look away to dispel the awkwardness. I look up again, and my eyes once again find hers. She is so lovely that I immediately forget that Alice and Jasper are even in the room. This, incidentally, is neither here nor there, of course, because they've long since forgotten us.

_Fucking hell, Cullen. You simply must get through this evening without tipping your mother off to what is afoot here, and being dazzled by this woman will do nothing to see you through to that end. Mum can smell a ruse a mile away, always could…lest we forget the great weed caper of 1996. Esme was not amused, and couldn't wait for Carlisle to return from whatever assignment he was on at the time to mete out suitable punishment. My mind wanders again, and I can't help but wonder what sort of mischief Bella got herself into as a girl. Holy Hell! Get a grip, man. Keep your eye on the bloody prize, here. _

Smiling down at her, I finally find my voice, "Good evening, Bella. You're looking quite well this evening."

She returns my smile, and I exhale slowly as she responds with a hint of cheek, unabashedly eying me up and down as if appraising the goods before she responds, "You're looking well, yourself, English. I trust you're ready for me to meet dear ol' Mum?"

I can sense the challenge in her voice, and I rise to meet it without hesitation. I simply refuse to let her secure an upper hand. That would be…unthinkable. Before I can stop myself, I find myself being inexcusably pompous, mercilessly knocking her down a few pegs, "Yes, well. Esme is the rock of our family, and her approval of you is vital to the success of the overall mission. If mother finds you, shall we say…_lacking_ in any way, she will find it necessary to interfere, and that, my darling, will not bode well for our joint aims."

I see her face fall uncharacteristically, and she seemingly begins to fold into herself, seemingly shrinking infinitesimally for a mere moment, before she recovers with her seeming trademark, impenetrable armour intact. It appears that I have turned the tables. More than that, I know I've wounded her. Being a master at reading people, I recognize that I've unwittingly played right into her insecurities. While this is a classic manoeuvre in our line of work; I suddenly feel like a complete git. _This is new…how novel_. Yet and still, I simply can't bring myself to right the ship. After all, I have also mastered the fine art of being a complete and utter bastard when I set my mind to it.

_When did I become such an insufferable, pompous arse? That was positively inexcusable. Esme would be appalled at what a bloody bastard I've become. Clearly, she would say that she raised me better than that. The Masen-Cullens are nothing if not well-bred as Grandmother Liz liked to remind us. Well done, arsehat. Well done, indeed. Way to charm the fairer sex, Cullen. I treated Lauren Mallory better than this, and Bella is clearly a hundred times the woman than the mad bunny boiler would ever be. _

At that moment, I see her steel herself, presumably against me, and rise to her full height. Exhaling slowly, yet in a bit of a huff, her face begins to flush crimson with ire, and she responds tersely, "If you don't think I'm up to the challenge…or if you find me so horribly…_lacking,_ as you say, perhaps this is a waste of time for everyone, English. We could always just call Rosalie and Emmett and call the whole thing off. I won't object; I'm quite certain that there is another MI6 operative that would be more than willing to accompany me on this mission. O'Shea seemed like an enthusiastic fellow; I'm sure we could work out an alternative arrangement that would be more suitable for everyone. You are more than free to stay here with dear ol' ma and pa."

_O'Shea? She can't be serious; he's as suited to a field op as a mountain lion is to the high seas. What an absurd creature. That, and O'Shea would have her pissed and bedded before they touched down in Rome, the bastard. Absolutely not!_

Astounded by her ire and her fiery tongue, and simultaneously realizing the seriousness of my misstep, I attempt to recover ground and lighten the mood, "Po-tay-to, Po-tah-oh, darling. There will be no need for that." Turning on the charm, I give her my best knicker-melting Cullen smirk, and counter, "There is absolutely nothing _lacking_ about you; I assure you. You are the perfect choice for these…ahem… this mission. We simply need to make the appropriate assurances to Mother that this is the case. That is all. I have no doubt that you'll charm Esme as you've charmed the lot of us."

She eyes me suspiciously, and I can't help but wonder if I've completely mucked everything up before I've even gotten her out the door. Truth be told, this entire situation has me at ends. I'm accustomed to controlling and shaping my missions to the finest detail. I like control, and working solo tends to afford one that luxury. However, everything about this mission, and one Bella Swan, feels completely out of control…or at least outside my control. This does little to help my disposition.

She shakes her head in seeming disbelief or disgust; I can't be sure. The only thing I can be sure of is that she did not appear to find me the least bit charming. As this revelation hits me, so do her words, "There's no need to blow smoke up my ass, English. We're obviously in this for the duration. We might as well make the best of it."

Amused at her brash tone, I can't help but chuckle, "Yes, well…In future, I will certainly keep that in mind as we are…making the best of it, as you say."

Looking to Jasper and Alice, it is clear that they are both oblivious to what has just transpired between Bella and me. By the looks of it, they simply cannot wait for us to vacate the premises. It would appear that our spatting is unforgivably delaying their scheduled quality time, and by quality time I do mean shagging themselves senseless. Ever the reliable wingman, I nod to Jasper, extend my arm to Bella, and give her my most dazzling smile, I can't help but bait her a bit, "Shall we, Mrs. Masen?"

Still looking a bit cross, she nevertheless looks up at me through those impossibly long lashes and takes my arm without hesitation, once again rising to meet my challenge, "We shall, Mr. Masen. No need delaying this dog and pony show after all."

I quirk my eyebrow in question as we've only scheduled dinner with my parents this evening. Before I can even inquire, she pats my arm and cuts me off, "Later, English."

I nod and add to clarify, "One thing. Once we step on that plane to Italy, we are Mr. & Mrs. Masen. However, tonight…tonight, you are the new Mrs. Cullen. My mother, Esme, is not privy to the details of our mission, and we mustn't tip our hand. She'll be suspicious, and likely a bit cross that we didn't have a proper wedding with all the foppery that her friends obsess over. Please be on guard, and if it isn't too much trouble, it would help immensely if you could at least pretend that it isn't torture for you to be within ten feet of me."

With that, her eyes widen, and her jaw drops, and she utters a few indecipherable syllables, before recovering and securing her armour once more. She smiles over at me, and quips, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. We'll be just fine. This ain't my first rodeo, Cowboy."

Puzzled, I reply, "Do they have rodeos in the Pacific Northwest?"

Rolling her eyes and shaking her head at me, she replies, "Ummm…sure. There are rodeos in Oregon, Idaho, but fewer in Washington. Surely, Jasper would know better than I would. You do realize that's just an expression, don't you?"

"What's an expression?"

She grins up at me, "Why don't we save this little game of 'Who's on First' for later. We really need to be going, don't we?"

I nod, still feeling on edge, and we both look to Jasper and Alice, who suddenly realize we're still in the room. In a mass of words and overly-enthusiastic support, Alice quickly hands me Bella's coat and gloves, and usher us out the door. Clearly their top priority is getting us on our way, so they can enjoy some alone time. They fall over themselves with a string of supportive platitudes before returning to their own little blissful bubble in the doorway.

I look to Bella and chuckle, "Well, it would appear that we overstayed our welcome, doesn't it?"

I see her visibly relax, and her colour return to normal as she laughs along with me, "Clearly, and it didn't even take three days!"

Before we make our way to the lift, I help Bella on with her coat, and hand her the gloves, "Three days?"

With that she rolls her eyes at me, and continues, "You've never heard the saying about fish and houseguests beginning to stink after three days, English?"

"Ummm…no, can't say as I have."

She shakes her head, "…and you've no clue what a dog and pony show is, either? Do you?"

"Well, there are equestrian events and there's Krupp's, but…"

She shakes her head and laughs to herself, "You're not helping your case here. Further proof that you were raised under a rock, English."

Ignoring her insult, I can't help but feel the smug bastard in me take over again as I smirk in response, "Actually, you're about to see where I was raised…the London house at any rate. You can tell me if you find it rock-like after dinner."

Realizing that I need to shift the tone between us, I guide Bella to the elevator with my hand at the small of her back, and in attempt to make small talk and divert the attention from me, I offer, "How was your afternoon? Did you have a chance to pack for our TDY? We do leave day after tomorrow."

Bella laughed out loud at that, "Not exactly."

Concerned, I counter, "Meaning?"

"Meaning, I don't pack."

"You don't pack?"

"No, English. I don't pack." She exhales in a huff, speaking as if I am a small child, "Alice does all my packing, and includes any tools or gadgets I might need along the way." She shrugs. "It makes her happy."

Nodding, and wishing that I had an Alice of my very own, I respond, "I see. The best our team can do is to have O'Shea and Jenks load me down with necessary gadgetry before I head out. Otherwise, I'm generally left to my own packing."

Smirking an impossibly adorable smirk, she replies, "Sorry about your luck, English. Full service is a specialty of Alice's. I could talk to her if you like…in the interest of inter-agency cooperation, of course. I'm sure she'd love to have a Ken to dress to counter her steady stream of exercises in playing Bella Barbie."

I quirk my eyebrow, "Bella Barbie?"

She chuckles, "Don't ask. Rest assured, if you want Ali to do your packing I'm quite certain that she'd take great pleasure in doing so, and would do it well. However, be forewarned, it will not be without surprises. Ali is always full of surprises."

Nodding my head a bit mystified by what surprises the wee one could pack in my luggage, I can only add, "Duly noted. Not having to pack will be well worth having to endure surprises and styling tips from Agent Brandon."

At that moment, Alice, who must have extraordinary hearing, and Jasper, who seems content to trail along behind her, inexplicably choose to come out of their smug little bliss bubble, and join us in the hallway by the lift. Before I realize what's afoot, Alice launches herself on me. "What's this I hear about packing? I'd love to do your packing, Edward. I'm a wizard with the MacGyver shit; you can't even imagine. Ask Bella; she'll tell you." I look to Bella, and Bella nods, clearly amused.

Of course, there is no stopping Alice as she continues without taking a single breath…her chatter is unending. _Hmmm…that must come in handy. I'll have to ask Jas about that little talent later. _

"I will do you right, my friend. Of course, I will touch base with Riley and Jason to see what they have planned, but I will do better. Of course, I don't have much time for shopping and tinkering, so I may need access to your closet. Sadly, the clothes may need to come from your existing wardrobe. There simply isn't time to engage the major design houses on your behalf…I suspect that you'll survive, and I can do fine shopping at casa de Cullen. Of course, I could call in a few favors…it's not impossible. Rest assured, I know just what you'll need for this trip, but that may not be necessary. Tell me, when can I access your bags?"

Alice speaks so quickly and enthusiastically that I'm not quite sure I comprehend half of what she's saying, but I do catch that she needs access to my flat.

"No worries. Jasper has keys to my flat. He can see you there, and show you my luggage as well as the rest of it. It truly is very kind of you to offer, Alice, and I most gratefully accept your generosity. That said, I do hope that you believe in packing light. We do need to be mobile, and invisible, after all."

With that, Bella dissolves into a fit of giggles. "Yeah, right. Edna doesn't know the meaning of the words, "packing light." However, lucky for us, Alice and I have learned to compromise over the years, haven't we, Ali? Besides, I'm sure Jasper will be around to supervise." With that, she and Jasper share a smile, and Jasper winks back at Bella, which I find annoying for some inexplicable reason.

Seemingly feeling a little ambushed by the turn the conversation has taken, Alice crosses her arms over her chest and lets out an exasperated, "Hmph!" With a dramatic exhale she adds, "No one appreciates creative genius, anymore. It's a travesty!"

Jasper rolls his eyes, as if to say, 'leave it to him,' and wraps his arms around Alice's waist, "Darlin', you know I appreciate your creative genius, and Bella and Edward do too. They just can't be dragging enormous steamer trunks over half of Europe. It will slow them down too much. Anything that exceeds the airlines baggage limits, or anything that might raise an eye with airport security, we can send via dead drop; I promise. Your creativity will not be stymied, I assure you, my love."

With that, Alice looks placated, and kisses Jasper on the cheek. Jasper and I exchange a look and I silently thank him as he nods and plants a kiss behind Alice's earlobe.

Bella and I look at each other clearly knowing where this is heading, and presumably not wanting to make things even more awkward, we say our goodnights, and head down to the underground car park. Of course, we do not make our escape without Alice shouting for Bella to call her as soon as she returns.

Laughing easily at her quirky friend, it seems that Bella's mood has lightened, and our earlier row is seemingly forgotten. I am relieved. Yet, I can't help but wonder if I'm going to spoil the mood again once I get her safely ensconced in the Aston Martin, and present her with the rings…again. This could very easily go pear-shaped.

We exit the elevator, and Bella strides off with purpose, as if she knows precisely where the car will be parked. I match her strides and put my hand at the small of her back to guide her to the Vanquish, but she seems confused and stops in her tracks.

She scans the expanse of the parking deck, seemingly quite confused. Clearly, she can't help but inquire, "English, where is the Volvo?"

Smiling broadly, I take her elbow, finally feeling in command again, I steer her toward my baby, "The Volvo has the night off."

She blinks, "What is this?"

"It's an Aston Martin Vanquish."

"Yes, I can see that. I'm not an idiot. I grew up around cars. Between my dad and my best friend, it was inescapable. I know cars, and I know this is a Vanquish…a 2007 S Ultimate Edition, if I'm not mistaken. Only 40 of these were ever made. Is this your car?"

Astonished and pleased by her knowledge of the car, I hit the automatic locks and open her door for her thinking that I've duly impressed her. Women simply can't resist the Vanquish, and most women don't even know what they're looking at, and Bella clearly does. "Yes, it is."

She rolls her eyes, stepping between me and the door, and looks disgusted, "Figures."

"Pardon?" _What could possibly be wrong now? It's a beautiful car, my favorite possession with the Ducati running a close second. How can she not be a puddle of goo at this moment…they're always puddles of goo when I bust out the Vanquish._

Before she slides into the passenger seat she wheels on me, "Well, from the moment I laid eyes on you…again, I knew there had to be a self-indulgent, pretentious Bondmobile around here somewhere. I have to hand it to you had me fooled with the Soccer-mom mobile; you really did. But, I was right! Not only do you own a car that could feed an African village for over a year, you also own the Clark Kent equivalent? Why am I surprised at this? I really shouldn't be surprised."

Still not really understanding her issue with the Vanquish, I shrug, "I like cars. I won't apologize for that, and my family does loads to support an array of international aid agencies. Moreover, the craftsmanship entailed in creating such masterpieces does stimulate the economy, so don't you think that offsets my penchant for finely tuned engineering to ease your mind about the starving children." _Hmmm…If she has an issue with the Vanquish, I wonder how she'll react to the Ducati. Well, luckily, we won't be in London long enough for that introduction. Good thing it isn't summer when it's my preferred mode of transportation._

I close her door and make my way to the driver's side. I drag my feet a bit to regroup. _This is definitely not going as planned. I need to turn this situation around, and quickly. If I arrive home, and Bella is not wearing those blasted rings, this entire situation is going to implode on all of us. Esme would raise so much hell that we'd be lucky to make it out of the house, let alone, make it out of the country._

It's clear what I must do. I don't like it. I truly don't have the stomach for it, nor do I think I've ever found myself in a situation where I've ever found it useful or necessary. Today is the exception. They do say there is a first time for everything, and today is my day to grovel. _Delightful. Groveling for a woman…shameful…they're going to revoke my man card for this, I'm certain of it._

There's no need to further postpone the inevitable, so I fold myself into the driver's side and buckle my seat belt, and turn to Bella. Not one that's accustomed to groveling; I swallow my pride and make my pitch. "Look, Bella. I'm going to level with you. I adore my mum. She is very important to me and my father. Not to mention, she has been relentless about getting me settled for eons. Her lack of success plagues her. She will expect that you will be wearing the family rings this evening. If you are not, it will raise suspicion and doubt that will not bode well for any of us, my father included. My mother will cause trouble if she suspects we are less than sincere. You and I, we are to be team…in the interest of team spirit, will you please wear these rings tonight, Bella. In exchange, you can wear your rings for the remainder of our mission…once we are on TDY. I will even go and pick up a matching platinum band, if it will make a difference. Please, just wear the Cullen family rings to dinner tonight? It will make an enormous difference to my parents…to Esme. Please?"

Feeling more vulnerable than I have in ages, I exhale in a huff having successfully delivered my soliloquy, realizing that I am practically strangling the steering wheel on my baby, and I release and flex my fingers as I await her response.

She sighs and hangs her head, "I am not completely heartless, English. Nor am I a complete and total bitch, although admittedly, I'm sure there are those who would disagree. Some days, even I would disagree, to be honest. We may have gotten off on less than ideal footing this evening. Hell, we started off on rocky ground the moment I saw you in that hotel elevator in Abu Dhabi." She exhales in a huff and looks up at me through impossibly long lashes and with deep brown eyes I could swim in for eternity. Pulling her rings from beneath her blouse, "These rings are important to me; Jacob…and I know you know who Jake is from that motherfucking dossier you have on me, bought them for me before he was killed. They are one from a very small handful of mementos that I have from him. If you are willing to concede, and agree to my wearing Jake's rings on our mission, and pick up a matching band so as not to raise suspicion, then the very least I can do is wear your family rings for your mother's benefit. It would be my pleasure, and it clearly would make life easier for you, and in turn us, so it's a win-win."

It's not often that I am rendered speechless, but this creature has effectively silenced me. I breathe deeply and find my voice and resist grabbing her and kissing her until we both pass out from lack of oxygen, "Thank you, Bella. You cannot fathom how much this means to my father and me. I am quite certain that Esme will find you utterly enchanting." _…As I do. I can't help but be bothered by how reverently she speaks of the pup and regards his trinkets. Yet, we have a prior engagement, so I'm forced to file that away for future examination. Needless to say, I don't like it…a bit._

I look over at her, and notice that her eyes are glistening with unshed tears, yet she remarkably maintains her composure and rolls her eyes, "I wasn't raised by wolves, English. I would do anything for my father…he's my rock; and were Rene and Phil alive, I'd do anything for them as well. Of course, as you already know, Renee and Phil no longer figure into my personal equation, may they rest in peace, but Charlie does, and I would do anything to protect him, or make him feel okay, so I understand wanting to make things okay for your mom. I'm your partner. I'm not going to throw you under the bus, English. I promise. One thing you should know about me, my word is bond. I'd rather die than break an oath. I accept that we're partners in this mission, and rest assured, I have your back. I'm sure you're aware of my track record from the dossier. That said, I expect the same from you, and hope that you are up to the challenge. Oh, and before you piss me off by asking me not to swear in front of your parents, save it. You have nothing to worry about. While it may not appear that I can form a coherent sentence without a string of expletives, that simply is not the case. I just choose not to a fair bit of the time. Fair enough?"

I exhale in relief, "Fair enough. Thank you, Bella. I promise that I will procure a suitable band that matches your ring first thing in the morning, and I will 'have your back' as you say. You have no reason to fear that. You and this mission are my priority."

Bella unexpectedly reaches over and squeezes my forearm, "NNNNNNo worries. I get it, English. We need to put on a show for Mommy Dearest. I am nothing if not a team player. Give me the motherfucking rings, and let's do this thing."

**a/n – **

Spyspeak:

**ICBM** – This was referenced in chapter one. It is the instant calm breath method that agents are taught in their basic training at Camp Peary or The Farm.

**TDY** - A **Temporary Duty** assignment, or **TDY** (humorous expansion of "Temporary Duty Yonder"), refers to a U.S. government employee or USG contractor travel assignment at a location other than the employee's permanent duty station. A TDY can be to any location, be it 50 or 5,000 miles away, but they are all less than 1 year in duration. Apparently, this is also used in the U.K.

The Chuck Norrisim that Alice doesn't finish is: _If you__ play Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven" backwards, you will hear him banging your sister._

The quote from Ann Richards was from the 1992 Democratic Convention when she said of Bush Sr., _"Poor George…he can't help it. He was born with a silver foot in his mouth!"_ This remains one of my favorite quotes of all time.

**As it turns out, getting back onto a more frequent updating schedule has proven difficult for me. Life, work and another bout of writer's block conspired against me. I am working to update as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, at this point, this is just as quickly as any of us would like. Hopefully, I can catch up and bring you more frequent installments soon. That's my hope at any rate.**

**As ever, I adore my Oz posse: the betalicious Kristi28 is now being joined by my wonderful TwiCounsel Mentor, loveofescapism joined Kristi on beta duties; my ficsis and web/blog mistress, laurasfirsttime; wussperv-in-residence, unconditionally; and my fab pre-readers: jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, jslack, wuogkat, and dihenydd. Not to be forgotten myimm0rtal validates OLR on Twi'd. Thank you will never, ever be enough, but it's all I've got.**

**Okay, my do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for update is called Heartbreak Remedy by dariachenowith. It's available only on the Writer's Coffee Shop, and one of my new faves. The author is writing in her second language which I find admirable. This is noticeable in the early chapters, but around chapter 15 she really hits her stride, and it takes off from there. Give it a whirl.**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	16. Chapter 15: Meet the Parents: Part One

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 15 is: 97****% wussperv safe and approved.**

_When we last left our dynamic duo, they'd just left Alice and Jasper who couldn't keep their besotted hands off each other. Both Bella and Edward have their own particular anxieties about the dinner with Carlisle and Esme, but truth be told their individual anxieties run deeper. Our not-so-happy newlyweds are learning how to navigate each other and their relationship, and each are stumbling. Bright side: Bella did agree to wear the Cullen family rings in exchange for being able to wear Jake's rings throughout the mission on the condition that Edward would buy a matching band so as not to raise suspicion. Let's rejoin our favorite spooks as they venture to face Edward's parents, shall we?_

BPOV

The silence is deafening. After our awkward exchange over those infernal rings, _to which I conceded and opted to take one for the team I might add_, the ride to the Cullen home is strained: strained, awkward, and silent, not to mention death defying. If I thought T-squared was a hazard to the roads in the Volvo, in the Vanquish he's an absolute menace to society. _A sexy as hell menace, but a menace nonetheless. Gah! Quit ogling the partner! Head in the game, Bella._

As for the silence, I think T-squared is just stunned that I actually agreed to wear his family rings to dinner with his folks. _No harm in keeping the ol' boy on his toes, I suppose_. I may not completely understand the situation we find ourselves in this evening, but I do empathize with his position. I meant it when I told him that I'm not heartless; I'm not. I may have had my heart wrenched from my body and pulverized four years ago, but I can still give him this. Why borrow trouble when it can be averted?

Besides, I've gotten quite adept at setting aside my own feelings to focus on the task at hand. I'm proud of my ability to compartmentalize to deliver on the objective of our mission. That's precisely what I intend to do tonight. I'm not much of an actress, but perhaps I can shut out the rest and focus on playing my part. Warming to T-squared might actually be a step in the right direction, and honestly, it shouldn't be that difficult. He does already hold a certain draw for me. There's no denying that.

On top of that, we are, for all intents and purposes, a team now. We might as well begin acting like one. Actually, truth be told, I don't mind wearing his rings for the evening, especially since he's agreed that I will wear Jake's rings for the remainder of the mission. This feels like a win to me. _By the looks of the perma-grin on T-squared's face, it's a win for both of us._

_Besides, when I finally relented and he smiled that broad grin that lights up his entire face…the one that makes him look incredibly charming and boyish, I may or may not have had a JIMP moment. Yep, I admit it…T-squared smiled at me, and I may or may not have jizzed in mah pants. When he looks at me like that, I can't help but want to do anything and everything in my power to ensure that he smiles like that at me…always. Why is it that I seem incapable of resisting him? This is definitely going to be a problem. Ice water…veins…stat! Yeah, that little self-preservation strategy doesn't seem to be working as well as it usually does. It would appear that this man is turning the ice water in my veins into warm goo. This development is so not good. I'm fucked. Period. And so not in the good way._

When he arrived to pick me up at Alice's flat, I could barely look at him. The man dazzles me when I least expect it. Tonight, he really does look exquisite in his dark trousers and grey overcoat with a hint of the soft, grey pullover peeking through the opening in his top coat. He is so beautiful, and despite my efforts to dowse my attraction to him, I can't help but be inexplicably drawn to him. _Like a proverbial moth to a flame, or a virgin for sacrifice…but for the fact there isn't anything remotely pure or virginal about me…perhaps a lamb to the slaughter is more apt._

I look over at T-squared noticing that his brow is furrowed, and he is lost in thought. Curious and recognizing his apparent distress, I am unable to resist. I gently lay my hand on his forearm, "Penny for your thoughts?"

He looks sideways at me and smirks that maddening smirk, "Ahhh…these thoughts are worth a quid, bare minimum."

I laugh in response, "Alright then, a quid it is…or perhaps, I should offer to buy first round, if we manage to make it out of your family home alive tonight? That seems more apropos, does it not?" It occurs to me that we'll both likely need a stiff drink after this little charade. Yet, I pull myself from my fatalistic machinations, "Tell me. What's going through that perennial bed head of yours?"

"Bed head, you say? Perennial, no less?"

"Yes, bed head. You have an uncanny knack for perennially looking like you just rolled out of bed…freshly fucked at that, if I don't say."

With that, he busts out laughing and flashes that maddening, trademark smirk, clearly amused, "You don't say. I do suppose that isn't terribly far from the truth."

Unwilling to consider the sheer number of notches on his bedpost and slightly outraged, I can't help but swat him playfully. "Ewwww…just ewww! Okay, rules of the road here, _partner_. That falls well into the realm of Too Much Information, English. As your pseudo-wifey, I have no need to hear the gory details of your random hookups, or otherwise. Feel free to keep your obviously considerable tales of conquest to yourself, if you don't mind, and I promise I will do the same."

"Your wish is my command, darling. Of course, I could always assist you in procuring first-hand knowledge. Should you wish to validate said suspicion, I'd be more than happy to oblige." The perma-smirk on his mug makes me want to throttle him. _Are we not supposed to be professionals here?_

Before I can manage to wrap my head around that salacious, little invitation, Edward swings the Bondmobile into a driveway and quickly throws it into park causing us both to jolt against our seats. I just barely refrain from making the snarky Mario Andretti comment that is on the very tip of my tongue. _See I can do this…we can do this. Emmett would be so proud._

T-squared rousts me from my internal pep talk, "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you have considerable tales of conquest?"

_Of course, he'd latch on to that bit._ I can't help but sigh and roll my eyes, "Okay, first, that falls into the realm of things that are dispensed on a need to know basis, and you definitely do not need to know that bit of intel, Special Agent Cullen."

His perma-smirk widens to a full-on grin, "And second?"

"Second, aren't your parents waiting for us? This is really neither the time, nor the place…."

I lose my train of thought as I gaze through the windshield of the Bondmobile to get my bearings. It's quite dark, so I can't easily make out the facade of the house, despite my best efforts. What I can tell is that it is a uniquely designed and lovely home. As far as I can tell, it is not necessarily indicative of this clearly affluent neighborhood in London, but strikes its own unique silhouette across this ages old skyline. Yet and still, I don't know London well enough to have my bearings, or know exactly where we are after dark, so I am not inclined to trust my first impressions. Nevertheless, I can't help but think that three of Charlie's modest bungalow would fit into this glorious monstrosity. I glance sideways, and work to mask my reaction as T-Squared interrupts my musings.

"Yes, well…to be continued, I suppose. Ready?"

I exhale in a huff. "Why do I feel a bit like Anne Boleyn being led to the gallows here?"

"Actually, she wasn't."

"Wasn't what?"

"Lead to the gallows. Good King Henry felt merciful toward her, and had her beheaded."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, a gallows is a frame, typically wooden, used for execution by hanging, or by means to torture before execution, as was used when being hanged, drawn and quartered. The gallows took its form from the Roman _Furca_ when Constantine abolished crucifixion."

I am so derailed by my nerves that I have no witty retort, so I lamely counter with, "Huh."

I can't help but follow with, "Aren't you Mr. Wikipedia. Well, that makes me feel much better, because being drawn and quartered is so much better than being beheaded."

Clearly amused with me once again, he rolls his eyes, "Well, I'm sure there are some that would assure that is the case. Be that as it may, there, there, no need to be so dramatic. Do you even have a brother you could be caught with in flagrante delicto?"

"I'm an only child, just like you. Surely, you knew that. Your dossier would have revealed that detail, did It not?"

"Yes, well…no harm in validating the data."

"Yes, well…speaking of the data, are you still reading from the dossier, English?"

He casts a sideways glance at me, and quirks his eyebrow, "Darling, my question is why aren't you?"

He has me there, and has consequently rendered me mum. No one on my team has bothered to provide me with a dossier on T-squared or his family. Normally, this is something that Emmett would typically be all over. I should have been properly briefed about T-squared and his family. Yet, no one on the team has provided me with a shred of paper on them. _Why hasn't it happened in this case? _

Other than the briefing Emmett gave me on T-squared after we discovered that he liberated the disk, neither he nor the others have provided me with any additional background on the exasperating man sitting smugly beside me. Clearly, T-squared and his family are well-armed for this little venture while I may very well be left twisting in the wind. _Fucking Cheney and Weber! What the fuck are they thinking? For that matter, what is Em thinking?_ _I'm so raising hell in the morning before we have to catch our plane for Italy._

T-squared must sense my discomfort, because he gently nudges, "We really should go into the house, Beau…Bella. That is the general idea after all."

Disoriented and slightly panicked, I can only nod in response.

Once again, surely sensing the anxiety that must be rolling off me in waves, he dips his head, and lifts my hand to his lips, ever so gently kissing the back of my hand, and suddenly, I am inexplicably swooning. Then he squeezes my palm and adds, "As my father once told me, 'To kiss a lady's hand…it's very romantic and refined. Offer a hand, ostensibly to shake, and then to kiss.' He tells me that he impressed my mother that way. I can only hope that you are similarly impressed, my Bella."

My breath catches in my throat, and I am incapable of a coherent response. Yet again, he's effectively rendered me speechless and charmed me in one fell swoop. That's twice in a matter of moments. I must admit; I like it…I like it a lot. I like it too much. _Fuck. Ice water…veins…Swan._ All I can think is that he called me 'his Bella.' _I'm becoming such a fucking girl. When did that happen? _More than that, I can't help but feel a tinge of guilt, because in all our years together Jake never disarmed me quite the way T-squared does. It was different for Jake and me.

While I'm recovering and setting aside my thoughts of Jake, T-Squared opens his door and manages to unfold his tall frame escaping from the confines of the driver's seat. He quickly makes his way to my door before I can manage to recover, opens it for me, and offers me his hand. I take it, and slide out of the car.

"Are you alright?" He smirks.

Closing ranks and regaining my composure, I counter with a smile of my own and quip with a note of sarcasm, "Never better. However, I will be even better after we have successfully run this gauntlet your parents have devised."

"It really won't be so horrid, Bella. You already know Carlisle, and he clearly likes and respects you, so it's really just my mum. You'll be fine."

I eye him skeptically, but keep my thoughts to myself. _It really is of unfair me to be thinking of his mother as a dragon lady whose about to have me for dinner. I haven't even met the lady. I'd likely be a little less on edge had fucking T-squared not gone on about his mother being the rock of their family…blah, blah, fucking blah._

While I'm stewing, he places the hand he isn't holding at the small of my back as if to steer me to the front door. "Ready?"

I heave a heavy sigh, "As I'll ever be. Let's go, English."

We make our way to the door, and T-squared enters without, knocking and calls out, "Hello? Dad? Mum? We're here."

Not a second later, Carlisle rounds the corner with an absolutely stunning woman who is sporting T-squared's bright green eyes and a perfectly-coifed mane that reminds me of the richest, most decadent caramel.

Nodding in greeting, Carlise clears his throat and makes introductions, "Darling, this is Isabella Swan. Isabella, this is my far superior half, Esme Evenson-Masen Cullen."

Before he can say another word, in unison, Edward and I chime, "Bella."

Surprised, I look up at T-squared, and I notice that Esme is looking from her son to me as if she is studying us as if we are insects under a microscope. I recall T-squared doing that very thing when we first met. This is a sensation that makes me feel intensely uncomfortable. The hint of a very familiar smirk plays at the corners of her lips as if she can read my thoughts, "Pardon?"

Before I can speak for myself, Edward speaks for me. "It's Bella, Mum."

"Well, Bella. It's a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our home. 'Tis truly a pleasure." The smirk returns, and it's impossible for me to tell whether or not her greeting is sincere.

Carlisle clears his throat, and chimes, "Well, there's no need to stand around in the foyer. Let's adjourn to the sitting room, and have a drink before we sit down to the lovely dinner your mother has prepared for us."

"Great idea, Dad." T-Squared suddenly seems particularly twitchy, and I can't help but take his hand and squeeze it affectionately. At which, T-squared starts and seems stunned by my gesture of support. Yet, I refuse to relent and squeeze his hand again, upping the ante to make it good for the folks at home, by trailing a couple of chase, yet seemingly affectionate, kisses along his delectable jawline. _Might as well make it look good for the folks at home. I should definitely be getting hazard pay for this._ We follow Carlisle with Esme bringing up the rear taking it all in, I'm sure.

Being trained to continually survey my surroundings, I travel through the corridors of the Cullen home taking in every inch. The house is impeccably decorated with a surprising mix of the modern paired with exquisite antiquities. It's a charming and eclectic mix. I can't help but notice the family photos. There are snapshots of Edward at every age looking every bit the golden boy he clearly is to Esme and Carlisle.

I also notice that in many of the older pictures the image of a small, beautiful little girl with strawberry-blond curls and what are clearly Carlisle's crystal blue eyes staring back at me from many of the family images. I can't help but wonder who she is, and why pictures of her end when she and Edward were clearly in elementary school. I nearly ask, but realize the night is young, and I am keen enough to know that my nosiness might take the evening down a road that none of us are prepared to venture.

We follow Carlisle through the house to what is seemingly a comfortable living room. Edward motions for me to sit on a leather sofa, and he sits closely beside me while Esme sits near us in a mis-yet-perfectly -matched club chair.

Carlisle positions himself behind a bar cart, and looks up at us, "Bella, are you a scotch drinker?"

Once again, before I can answer for myself, T-squared pipes up, "She is, Dad. It would seem she has a soft spot for Glenfiddich."

They exchange a glance that I cannot quite decipher, and Carlisle nods, "Well then, since it is before dinner, perhaps the Glengoyne would be nice choice. Are you willing to branch out, Bella?"

This time, Edward looks to me instead of answering for me, and I nod. "Of course, Sir."

Carlisle begins pouring the whisky into three snifter glasses, and looks up at me, "Bella, please. Call me Carlisle. After all, you're one of us now." With that, he winks at me, and I can't help but feel a bit like I've fallen down the rabbit hole, because things were definitely getting curiouser and curiouser.

Edward stood and crossed the room taking two glasses from his father nodding in thanks, and returned to sit closely beside me handing me a glass with that maddening wide smile that surely will be my undoing.

Carlisle turned to Esme who appeared to be intently studying Edward and me again, "Darling, Pims Number 6 for you?"

Esme looks up to him smiling, "Yes. Thank you, Carlisle."

"Edward, your father tells me that you and Bella are headed out soon, and there is no time to plan a proper ceremony for you and your bride." Esme stresses the word bride in a way that makes a chill run down my spine. _Well, well, well, Mama Cullen doesn't mess around._

T-squared must have noticed, because he gently lays a hand on my thigh just above my knee to still me that elicits a shiver of a different sort, "That's correct, Mum. There just isn't time."

"Very well, then. I do hope that you'll permit me to prepare a proper reception for your return. You wouldn't deny me this, would you?"

Carlisle chimes in an attempt to salvage the turn that the conversation has taken, "Esme, darling, we don't know when the kids will be back, so it will be a bit difficult to plan a party if you are unable to set a date."

Esme gives Carlisle a look that clearly communicates that she will not be moved, "Carlisle, there is plenty that can be arranged without having a date, leave the planning to me." She then looks back at T-squared and me, "It is decided then?"

Puzzled as to why we'd have a reception at the end of the mission when we'll be set to go our separate ways, I say nothing. T-squared fills the awkward pause, "As you wish, mother."

Esme smiles a benign smile and nods, but I can't help but sense that there is something more behind it, "Bella, Edward tells me that you are quite accomplished in the kitchen. Would you mind terribly giving me a hand? Dinner will be ready soon. I'm sure this lot can keep themselves entertained while we finish up in the kitchen."

I hazard a sidelong glance at T-Squared, and he is, once again, grinning from ear to ear, and I'm not quite sure whether this is a good development, or not. Before I can respond to Esme's request, T-squared gives me a little wink and a nod. I smooth the front of my skirt and stand. "Certainly, Mrs. Cullen. I'd be happy to lend a hand. It would be my pleasure."

Esme claps her hands together. We stand, and she grabs me by the elbow and leads me directly to the kitchen, "My mother would be mortified that I am goading a guest into being kitchen help! She would say that my breeding, not to mention my time at Hanford School and Marlborough College should have ensured better manners!" She laughs at this. Sadly, her amusement is lost on me.

"I really don't mind. I do love being in the kitchen."

I look around and take in my surroundings, and am awed by the enormous, fully-appointed gourmet kitchen that is as impeccably designed as the rest of the house. "Besides, who would object to playing sous chef in such a lovely one?"

Before I can wax philosophical about the appliances, or the design, and the décor, Esme pulls me back to her.

"Brilliant. Now that we have that sorted; we're having Italian in honor of your upcoming holiday. I know you'll be having plenty of fantastic Italian fare while you are on holiday, but I couldn't resist. While Carlisle was on a…a…business trip a few years back, a few of my friends and I spent two weeks traveling around Lombardy and Tuscany visiting villas outside Milan and Florence in these charming little towns. It was a cookery holiday. We shopped; we drank; we cooked; we ate; we saw the sites; and positively defiled the spas! On top of a fantastic holiday, I brought home a small arsenal of authentic recipes. I wanted to share them with my new daughter-in-law."

I blanch when she calls me her new daughter-in-law. "That sounds fantastic, Mrs. Cullen. What's on tonight's menu?"

Before answering, Esme pulls out two wine glasses and a bottle of red, uncorks and pours, "Please, Bella. Let's dispense with the formalities. Do call me Esme. As for what's for dinner, I've thrown together osso bucco; risotto Milanese; and a bit of broccolini sautéed with garlic and a lovely olive oil. I also have a nice bruschetta on fresh crostini to start as well as a limoncello sorbet for pudding."

I am duly impressed, and given my apparent lack of guile, I'm quite sure it must show on my face, "It sounds delicious. Risotto Milanese is one of my favorites and osso bucco, may rank a close second only to mushroom ravioli, although I've never quite mastered osso bucco, myself, I must admit. It's a bit involved. You must have been cooking all day!"

"Well, perhaps. I did spend a bit more time worrying over the cooker than is usual. However, 'tis a pleasure. Tonight is a time for celebration. We've been waiting a long time for you, you know."

"Ummm…I'm sorry Ma'am, I'm afraid I don't know what…"

Esme interrupts before I can finish my question, "Please, darling, I insist…call me Esme. Ma'am is dreadful and makes me feel a bit akin to Methuselah."

I nod in response not quite sure what her agenda might be, and she continues. "Carlisle likes to let Edward believe that I am naïve and blissfully unaware of the business. I indulge him in this, because a) it is Six policy, and we do not wish to compromise Edwards career trajectory; b) it serves my family to do so; and c) I love my husband and my son, and I indulge them both much, much more than I should."

Not quite sure where she's going with this, "I'm not sure I understand."

She walks to the oven, and pulls out crostini, sets the pan on the center island to cool, and motions me to the stove, "Why don't you help me pull together the risotto while I assemble the bruschetta, and I'll explain…as much as I am able at any rate. Otherwise, it will be midnight before we eat, and the boys will be climbing the walls, or half-pissed before dinner, or both! It would be a novelty for them to actually taste the feast that we've slaved over, no?"

I nod and we laugh together as we put together the risotto, I stir as Esme adds ingredients to the cast iron dutch oven, "Bella, I am more aware of what my husband and son do than most Six spouses. There's a reason for that. In 1983, Edward's sister was abducted, and the general consensus is it was related to a case that Carlisle was assigned at the time. She was never returned to us, and was ultimately declared dead."

I inhale sharply, "Oh Esme, I'm so, so very sorry!" I can empathize. I lost Renee and Phil, and I lost Jake. Yet, I cannot imagine the horror that it must be to be a parent, and lose a child. My heart breaks for the entire Cullen clan, and Edward, in particular.

"Thank you, Bella. Even after all this time, there's no pain that rivals the pain of losing my only daughter." Her eyes are tinged with sadness as she adds liquid to the pot I'm continuously stirring.

My mind is reeling. T-squared had a sister. There's so much I don't know about the man in the other room. I can't help but wonder what else I don't know.

I exhale slowly, and Esme speaks again, "Point being, after our loss, Carlisle vowed to never keep things from me that could directly affect our family. He doesn't tell me everything, of course. However, I am kept abreast of the essentials."

I nod in response, "So, you know that this marriage is a sham, then?"

She smirks that smirk that reminds me oh-so-much of T-squared, "I know that you and your team have been brought in to address a considerable global threat, and that you and Edward have a very important job to do."

Still stirring, I counter, "Then, why all the pretense?"

Esme exhales in a huff. I look back at her and she's made quick work of the bruschetta and has two small platters before her. "Hold that thought. I should take a nibble to the boys, so they don't start gnawing their appendages."

I laugh at this as she disappears into the bowels of the house to take her boys their appetizer. I continue to stir and puzzle over the fact that T-squared had a sister, and what I still don't know about the Cullens and this mission.

Before my internal dialogue can get too out of hand, and begin over-analyzing as only I can, Esme returns and picks up where she left off.

"Yes, well, to answer your last question, I should say, and as you've likely guessed, it is a definite breach of protocol for me to know some of the things I know, and it wouldn't do for Edward to be a party to that. There could be…certain repercussions. This is a matter between my husband and me. I only share this with you, so you will understand and not unknowingly compromise our situation. As a Six outsider, you are not jeopardized by being privy to this information, and it may help you down the line. Bella, know that if you ever have need, you can always call on me, and Carlisle and I will come to your aid. As such, the pretense is extremely important as is keeping Edward in the dark. I trust that you'll keep my confidence."

She adds another ladle of liquid to the pot, and I nod as I continue stirring and sip my wine, "Of course, Esme."

"Thank you, Bella."

We continue working together to finish dinner making small talk as Esme drains her glass and refills both glasses as she assembles the remaining bruschetta and sautés the broccolini, and I keep close watch over the risotto. Esme periodically stops to add ingredients and liquid to the pot I'm stirring. It seems we have a symmetry…an easy camaraderie…and I find it more than a bit unsettling, but in a good way. Esme reminds me of Renee in an odd way. In truth, they are nothing alike, but Esme still makes me think of my mother, and how much I miss her. Perhaps, that is why I find myself taking to Esme in spite of myself.

Esme looks up at me and smiles warmly, "You know, Bella. I love my son. I truly do. Yet, you must have noticed by now that he is not without his quirks."

"Quirks?"

"Yes, quirks. Firstly, have you not noticed that he is obsessed with that damnable machine outside…to say nothing of the others?"

"The others?"

"Are you part parrot, darling?"

I can't help but chuckle at that, "No, please go on."

"There's also the Volvo which I'm sure he's already shown off, and there's that infernal deathtrap…the Ducati."

"Figures." I can't help but shake my head at his predictability. I fail to mention that I still have Jake's and my bikes in my garage at home although I haven't ridden in years…four years to be exact.

Esme doesn't detect my distress, and giggles like a school girl, "Exactly. I've been harping on him to get rid of that thing for eons, but once they've flown the nest, the influence is marginal at best."

"Yes, well, given the way he drives on four wheels, I hazard to guess how he'd be on two!"

Esme returns my underhanded comment with a knowing smile, "Rather adept, I'm afraid. Sadly, this doesn't bring me much comfort. I do realize that I am the one that raised him, so I must accept part of the blame, but he can be insufferably arrogant, self-possessed, and a bit of a know-it-all. His obsession with fancy machines is merely a sideline. I suppose that is my fault for indulging him so over the years. You mustn't let him get away with any of that, understand? You must have a firm hand with him. Do not give him a centimeter."

"Yes, Mrs. Cul-" With that she glares at me, and I correct myself, "Of course, Esme."

"Better. You have to promise."

Not really knowing what she means by that, I exhale in a nervous huff, and Esme picks up the slack.

"Look, Bella. I know that your marriage appears to be nothing more than a lick and a promise. Yet, I know that isn't the case. As I said, I am not nearly as naïve as Edward believes I am, and don't you dare tell him that! That shall be taken up in a different time and different place, but not now…and not while you are in the field. I trust you to respect this."

I nod, my head still swimming with this new information, and she continues, "While this may surprise you, I do realize that your… your union with my Edward is in service to this particular mission; I also recognize that even in this short time that you're good for him. You've brought him back to life, my dear. That is no small feat. After Tanya was abducted, he was so lost and desolate. I don't think he ever truly recovered. Yet, when I see him with you, I see a spark that I haven't seen in him since he was a lad…the lad he was when Tanya was still with us."

Esme turns to transfer the broccolini to a serving bowl, and places it in a warming drawer. I notice it's time to add liquid to the risotto, so I do. I continue stirring when I feel Esme lay a hand on my shoulder, "I know we've only just met, but I dare say he does the same for you, Bella."

Blinking and unable to process what she's just said, my mind wanders back to what she said earlier, "What did you mean when you said, 'You'd been waiting for me for a long time?'"

Esme smiles a warm and comforting smile that is so broad that it reminds me T-Squared and that particular smile that turns me to goo, and I can't help but feel that goo forming again, but differently, "Just that. When we lost Tanya, we were fractured as a family and as individuals. Of course, time moves on, and we've all picked ourselves up and carried on as one does, but it left its mark on each of us."

"Where do I fit into all this?"

"Well, from what Carlisle tells me, you are no stranger to loss, yourself."

Again, that familiar twinge in my gut wrenches, as she continues, "When Tanya died it created a chasm in our family, a chasm that it would seem that you are uniquely qualified to fill. You have similar chasms, do you not?"

She continues, "With what happened to your parents and your partner, you are uniquely-equipped to handle the lingering grief that permeates our family, and will be an ideally, matched-pair for Edward."

I don't even know where to begin with this, but I'm so outraged that she knows my personal history without even being an agent of Six that I lash out, perhaps more heatedly than I intend, yet somehow inexplicably managing to reign in my inclination to curse a blue streak, "First of all, how is it that you know about Renee, Phil and Jake?" _Emmett is so getting an earful as soon as I get back to the flats tonight; I don't care if I have to drag his farmboy ass out of bed to do it, either!_

My instincts are correct; I clearly must have been more heated than I intended, yet I try to maintain focus as Esme explains, "Bella, we knew you would be paired with Edward in this mission. As such, it became necessary to determine whether or not you were suitable. Please don't be cross."

She is unapologetic, and I am at a loss, and feel my temper flaming and my cheeks turning pink, "So, you, and 'your boys' picked me because my parents were brutally murdered, and my partner died in a mission-related explosion? Is that it?" Even in my fury, I keep stirring, conscious not to ruin the risotto.

Esme smiles a placating smile, "No darling. Carlisle had no idea that you'd turn up when Edward was liberating your disk. You were what one might call a happy coincidence, especially when the poor boy came home so bloody rattled. We knew we were onto something with you."

Like mother, like son: once again, I find myself at a loss for words, so I just continue stirring, and I notice that the risotto is nearly done. I ladle in another bit of liquid for good measure, and change the subject, "The risotto is nearly done. It's time to add the cheese."

"Yes, of course." She reaches into the fridge and pulls out a wedge of parmigiano reggiano and a grater, and grates a generous amount into the pot as I stir. When she finishes, she hands me serving bowl, "Do you mind turning that out into the bowl while I take care of the osso bucco? And Bella please don't let what I've told you upset you. I simply meant that Edward is a bit of a lone wolf, and wouldn't be suited to partner with just anyone. I think you will be able to handle him."

I nod and add the risotto to the plate with the bruschetta, and put the pot in the sink to soak as Esme does the same with the pot she just emptied and adds the osso bucco and broccolini to the mix.

Just as we're about to take the dishes to the table, Carlisle and T-squared storm the kitchen with an empty plate, raving about how wonderful everything smells, and how ravenous they are. Esme just smiles and hands each of them a dish to carry, and shoos everyone out of her kitchen, "Come on, then. Let's eat."

a/n:

JIMP: comes directly from a request from Disappear Here by htothem to popularize the word among the fandom. It makes me giggle! Use it in a sentence today!

**I'm finally getting slightly better about the frequency of updates. However, in addition to everything else perking along in my world, I'm taking a class on campus this fall that may kick my ass, so I'm not quite sure how we'll do with updates through the fall. I promise I will update absolutely as frequently as I can manage. Deal?**

**By now you know my beloved Oz posse: the betalicious Kristi28 and my wonderful TwiCounsel Mentor, loveofescapism are on beta duty; my ficsis and web/blog mistress, laurasfirsttime/noahevansmom; wussperv-in-residence, unconditionally; and my fab pre-readers: jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, distant. dream118, jslack, wuogkat, and dihenydd. Not to be forgotten ****myimm0rtal validates OLR on Twi'd. T-squared, Assassinella, and I would be lost without them.**

**In my last update, I forgot to mention that there is an Em & Rose outtake/sideshot posted on both FF (dot) net and Twi'd called _If Looks Could Kill_. It won first place for outtake/side-shot in the Me & Mr. McCarty contest. Thank you to all of you who read it and voted! If you haven't read it, give it a whirl.**

**My do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for this update is called: Coming Through The Rye by mac_214. Mac writes in Scottish dialect and it's really impressive. That, and I may or may not be a bit smitten with Ryeward…js. Don't miss this one!**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


	17. Chapter 16: Meet the Parents: Part Deux

**Rating: M/NC-17 for violence, language and lemons**

**Disclaimer: All hail Stephanie Meyer who owns all Twilight characters, and all not-so-veiled Twi-references and bastardized quotes. Me? I own what's left. **

**All copyright and trademarked items mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The remaining content is my intellectual property. No copying, translation or other reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.**

**Unconditionally's official wussperv rating for Chapter 16 is: **** 100% ****wussperv safe and approved.**

Last time on OLR, Alice and Bella had a little girl time as Alice primped, preened, and otherwise prepared a trepidatious Bella to face Edward's parents for dinner. After some wrangling, T-squared and his Beauty make their way to Cullen manor in the heart of Holland Park to join Esme and Carlisle for a much anticipated family dinner. Surprising everyone, Esme takes to Bella immediately, and whisks her away to the kitchen to help with dinner. During their exchange, Bella learns that the Cullens lost a daughter to nefarious forces, and T-squared lost a sister. Yet, nothing more is shared about the connection between Tanya's disappearance/death and their current assignment. Bella also gleans that Esme seeks to forge her as an ally, but she can't quite fathom why. Despite being beyond miffed that Esme has more information than she should as a Six spouse, Bella tries to accept both Esme and the Cullens at face value, and attempts to make the best of the situation with Emmett's warning about the mission at hand and the future of her career lingering in the back of her mind.

EPOV

I repeatedly glance sideways, careful not to stare too obviously, as I cautiously observe my Beauty throughout dinner. Although, shall we be honest? At this point, all I truly wish to do is ogle her shamelessly and lure her into a dark corner and snog her senseless. I find it nearly impossible to keep my eyes and hands off her delicious curves, especially when she's being so utterly irresistible and welcoming. My inner machinations aside, it's almost as if she is a different woman than the one I've encountered previously. With my parents, she is mesmerising, and I am utterly enchanted.

Bella, my sweet, lovely Beauty, chats animatedly with my parents engaging them in conversation about everything from the small town in which she was reared to the state of global warming. She is open, warm, lovely, clever, and perfectly charming. She is appropriately affectionate with me without being cloying. I find myself mesmerised and feeling quite smitten by this new incarnation of my Beauty. Astonishingly, Mum appears to agree. She and Bella act like they are long-lost boarding school chums. Yet from her dossier, I know that Bella came from a modest upbringing and was never afforded that privilege. I honestly can't help but wonder precisely what happened whilst those two were squirreled away in the kitchen, and what my blue-blood mother could possibly have in common with the spirited, self-starting Yank. Nevertheless, they are certainly as thick as thieves now. How peculiar. Mum is usually much more cautious with newcomers…especially those outside her social circle.

I can't help but feel that all this is a bit off. How could this lot bond so tightly over risotto and a few veal shanks. It's utterly nonsensical, and completely outside my experience with my mother. She can be tricky at best with outsiders. I'd been prepared to hear Bella skewered against Rosalie's virtues, but it would appear that this would not be forthcoming. When we arrived, I'd steeled myself against being dragged off into a corner and forced to listen to how the Yank didn't measure up, or couldn't possibly fit in; but this, I was not prepared for this. Bloody hell! Esme has accepted my Beauty as my bride without a word, and without exception. I suddenly feel like a complete and utter git. We shouldn't be fooling Mum this way. It's cruel in the extreme given what she's had to endure in her life. What happens when I return a bachelor once again, and Beauty returns to her life in the States? Mum will be so horribly disappointed. There's a spot reserved for me in hell; this much is assured, and my father will be seated on my right hand for his part in this ghastly charade! It would well appear that our souls are irredeemable.

My father and I share a glance as Bella and Mum chinwag incessantly over places we must visit when we are in Rome. Bella chimes in with places she's been and would like to visit again, and waxes philosophical, and almost wistfully, about some gelato shop that she insists simply must be our first stop once we deplane. I've never encountered someone so passionate about gelato, or food in general, for that matter. It's a curious detail about my Beauty. Yet, I must admit, I've never had a bad meal in her company despite our short acquaintance. This may work out quite well for me.

At one point, Mum surprises me when she looks to my father, and suggests that we visit a bed and breakfast in Fiuggi owned by their dear, old friends, the Morettis. That's odd, I didn't realise that Mum knew the Morettis. That's quite curious. I don't remember them being around when I was a lad. If I didn't know better, my father may have just shot Mum a warning glare in response. Odd, that.

My father chimes in, "Edward and Bella are already slated to pay Carmen and Eleazar a visit, darling."

"Excellent! Will it be too much trouble to have you courier a note, and some homemade marmalade?"

I roll my eyes and look to my father for rescue, but before he can intervene, Bella pipes up, "We'd be happy to deliver them for you, wouldn't we, Eng…E…Edward." As she reaches over affectionately covering the hand I have lying on the table with her own, I can't help but note that is the very first time that she's ever called me by name. Hearing my name spill from her lips, even if she does stumble over it, is far better than the sweetest symphony, and I immediately long for her to say it again. The combination of my name on her lips, and her hand resting gently over mine has me transfixed.

She squeezes my hand again, apparently to elicit a response from me, and my wish is answered when she clears her throat, "Edward?"

I look up and immediately notice that the lot of them are staring at me as if I've gone daft, and I can't say that I disagree with them. I quickly recover, and smile at my Beauty, flipping my hand over to take her palm in mine, and look to my mother. "We will be delighted to be your carrier pigeons, Mother."

Mum laughs as she reaches for my father's plate to fill it, and shakes her head, "Cheeky bugger. I'll be sure to send it with you when you leave tonight. Bella? Don't let me forget!"

Bella smiles and I feel her subtly yet imperceptibly try to withdraw her had from mine, but I hold her firm as she responds, "Of course, Esme. We won't leave without it, I promise."

In order to be a good operative, you have to play on emotions...and sometimes, you have to feel something yourself...It is not lost on me that I am having feelings for my Beauty. Sadly, she seems utterly immune to my charms. For one who claims to be an abominable actress, she is putting on a BAFTA winning performance. This is new for me. I'm used to women throwing themselves at me genuinely, not under the guise of greater subterfuge. Needless to say, this leaves me perplexed. It's clear that my own emotions are interfering, despite my attempts to keep them in check. Of course, perhaps it is probably for the best. Perhaps this sexual confusion and tension will make us more believable in the field against the Volturi. Believable and stealthy we must be. Little does Bella know that our lives depend upon it, quite literally. I wonder if I should feel guilty for keeping her in the dark, but I shake it off.

Returning my attention to dinner, I observe just how well my parents are getting on with my Beauty. It's uncanny. She's charmed them, utterly. As ever, Mum has outdone herself. Well, in this particular instance, Mum and Beauty have outdone themselves. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Mum spirits my Beauty away within mere minutes of our arrival, nevertheless I can't help but be a bit concerned as to what the pair of them have been up to before dinner. They only just barely finished their apéritifs before Mum was dragging my Beauty off to the kitchen. I'm not sure why, but there was still something I found slightly unsettling about this turn of events.

Dinner passes easily with much conversation and laughter. Before we know it, Mum is serving pudding with that dark roast Kenyan coffee that she enjoys so much. As we finish up, Dad and I clear the table and do the washing up as Mum and Bella discuss the finer points of Mum's limoncello sorbet recipe, and the shop in Nairobi where Dad buys her favourite coffee over a second cup. Once the cleaning up is sorted, we adjourn to the sitting room and continue our evening until Dad clears his throat, and tells us that we should be getting home, because tomorrow will be taxing for both of us. We all agree, and head for the door.

As we say our farewells, I am astonished when my mother takes both Bella's hands into her own and squeezes them gently.

"So lovely to meet you, darling. I'm so very pleased you were able to join us for dinner, Bella. I look forward to you and Edward returning to us very soon. Please do return to us soon. Remember what I shared with you. Be firm, darling." I wonder what Mum means by that last bit, but before I can contemplate it further, Mum stuns me with what she does next. In a move that is generally reserved only for family and very close friends, my mum pulls Bella into a warm embrace and kisses her on both cheeks. I am astonished at her warmth and can't quite bring myself to hide it.

Still completely gobsmacked and puzzled by my mother's instructions to my Beauty, I am momentarily startled when mum releases Bella, pulls me close, and kisses both my cheeks. Pulling me closer still, Mum whispers so only I can hear, "Be safe, my darling, and keep your young lady safe as well. She's a keeper, Edward. She's a Cullen through and through; I can feel it. Take good care of her, and bring the both of you back to us, Son. I love you, my darling… you are my shining star."

I feel myself melt with her words. Mum has been calling me her shining star for almost as long as I can remember.

She releases her grip on me, but keeps a hand on my shoulder, and takes my chin in her hand, and I can clearly see that she is holding back tears. "Make no mistake, you and your father…Tanya…the lot of you…you are my heart. Don't destroy me. Understand?"

I feel the knife twist in my gut as the weight of her words hang like an albatross around my neck as Mum reluctantly releases me. I can't help but feel the added pressure of Mum's expectation layered upon Six's expectations, and my father's expectations. Suddenly, the weight of it all seems unbearably oppressive. I observe Carlisle shaking Bella's hand rather professionally while talking in hushed tones before he turns to me. He places a hand on my shoulder, before pulling me into a warm embrace that is characteristic of my unconventional father, and whispers so only we can hear, "I may not be able to make it to see you off tomorrow. Do the job, and come home to us, son. If you need anything, or if things get too dodgy, get word to me, immediately. Understood?"

I can only nod in response, and he continues, "Never doubt that I love you, Edward, and I will be there for you always…without question. Never doubt that. This is important. It's possibly the most important mission that you and Bella have ever been assigned, not to mention the most dangerous."

Words fail me at the emotion and earnestness in his voice, so I merely nod in reply. Once we've made all our farewells, and Mum weighs us down with jars of marmalade and a note penned on her personal stationary, my Beauty and I make a graceful exit.

It's grown quite late, so I forego Bella's offer of heading to the pub. We have a long day of preparations and travel ahead in the morning. Not only that we both must deal with the Yank, Rosalie, and Alice before we can leave the country. We both could do with a good night's rest. As such, I drive her straight to her flat without explanation. Curiously, she makes no comment, and I take this to mean that the evening with my parents has worn her out as well. We'll have plenty of time to rehash the particulars over Chianti once we're in Rome.

We settle into a companionable silence on the drive home. Both of us lost to our own thoughts. Interestingly, it is not at all awkward as one might expect. In fact, it is promising that Beauty and I can share silence so easily. Since we will be essentially joined at the hip for the next few weeks, or perhaps, months, we'll have to learn to tolerate each other's habits. Knowing that we can be comfortable without having to fill every moment with inane chatter is encouraging.

Still adhering to the edict Rosalie and Beauty's fellow Yank, McCarty, issued to park underground since the Yanks arrived, I deftly swing the Vanquish into the car park underneath Beauty's building, and throw the car into park, and turn in my seat to face my Beauty.

Bella finally breaks the silence, and begins yammering on, seeming uncharacteristically nervous. "Thanks, English. We survived, obviously. Remarkably so. I'll see you tomorrow. We have a flight to catch. I'll make good on my offer for first round once we land in Italy. Fair enough?

Before I know what's happening, her hand is on the door handle, and she's preparing to make her exit, so I do the first thing I can think of, and grab her wrist, and pull her close to me. "Surely, not! Where do you think you're going? Mum would throttle me if she found out I didn't see you to your door, especially after how you lot got on tonight. As for first round, if it pleases you, I will indulge you that once we arrive in Rome."

Remembering my manners, I release her wrist, but not before I kiss the spot on the underside of her wrist, just below her palm, that I had grasped much too tightly. My Beauty appears incredulous…and speechless, and I find I enjoy rendering her speechless much, much more than I should. Before she can escape my clutches, I unfold myself and stretch as I emerge from the Vanquish, and make my way to the passenger side of the car. I open her door, and extend a hand to help her out of the vehicle.

Bella shakes her head in apparent exasperation, recovers, takes my hand, and emerges from my baby. She blinds me with her smile of appreciation, takes my arm, and leads me to the lift, "Alrighty then, Sir Galahad. See me to my door. Apparently, the rumours of chivalry being dead have been greatly exaggerated!"

I chuckle in response, and shake my head. I cannot hide my amusement as she continues to chatter nervously.

"We do have a big day tomorrow, and both of us could do with a bit of beauty sleep. We've both had a long night. I'm exhausted, and I'm sure you must be too. Let's get this over with, shall we? For tomorrow, we're wed."

I can't resist, and before I realise the words are tumbling thoughtlessly from my lips, "You couldn't ever be any more beautiful than you are right at this moment…no matter how much sleep you take. As for being wed, I can certainly think of far worse fates that could befall us."

My Beauty looks up at me through those impossibly long lashes, "Chivalrous and a flatterer as well; it would appear that your reputation is well-earned, English. Nice. "

I detect a note of cynicism in her voice. Unable to resist baiting her, I lean in closely, my nose nearly grazing the delectable arch of her ear, as the doors to the lift closes on us, "It isn't flattery if it is truth and offered with sincerity, darling."

I feel her shudder in response, and I am so moved by her that I must fight every urge within me to move in and trace the delectable line from her collarbone up the column of her neck to her succulent earlobe with the tip of my nose poised to fully savor her scent. Yet, I remain close enough to hear my Beauty swallow audibly. I smile smugly, and resist the urge to readjust the situation that has sprouted in my trousers, until I feel her, quite ironically, stiffen at my side. Feeling the energy between us shift, and watching her grow as skittish as a white-tailed deer that's unwittingly found itself much too close to humans, I fear she might well bolt on me. I rally and quickly change the subject to put her at ease, "What is this reputation you speak of?"

She visibly relaxes, rolls her eyes, and scoffs at me, "Oh, come on, English! Even your mother knows of your reputation as a notorious lothario. Surely, you're not completely oblivious to it."

She has a point, but I'm not about to venture down that path this evening.

The lift doors open, and I can't help but place my hand at the small of her back, and I'm surprised when I meet no resistance. Despite her accusations, she ever-so-slightly settles into me as we make our way to her door. She feels good…better than good. We fit perfectly together…much like puzzle pieces that it had taken much too long to assemble. I can't help, but let my mind wander to other ways we might fit together perfectly. Not surprisingly, the need to adjust myself in my trousers returns.

She melds to me effortlessly as we venture through the corridor and to her door. Indeed, it is exactly as if we are two puzzle pieces that were always meant to fit together, and I can't help but wonder, once again, to what end. This time, the silence that settles between us is an awkward one. I can't help but posit if this is my doing…or undoing as the case may be, or hers.

Seeking to fill the pregnant pause in our conversation, I offer, "Tonight went much more smoothly than we expected, did it not?"

Beauty nods, "I think so. I really enjoyed meeting your mother. She's a fascinating woman. Funny…and quite a rich character, and seems to have more to tell than she shared this evening. I genuinely like her. To be honest, I'm surprised. I expected the 2010 version of the Spanish Inquisition tonight to be quite honest."

I smile in response, "I could tell. Not to worry, darling. It's quite safe to say that the feeling was entirely mutual. It was as if the pair of you were long lost sisters. It's true. Mum is an amazing woman. She raised me nearly single-handedly as Carlisle was seemingly away on Six business more often than not. As for Mum's stories, being Carlisle's wife has given her rich fodder for storytelling. Their union is unconventional by Six standards. Mum always seems to know much more than other spouses do. I've never quite understood how Carlisle has gotten away with that all these years. It's quite remarkable, really."

I sigh and continue, "Rightly so, I suppose, she's sacrificed much. I'm guessing she told you about Tanya. That was virtually inevitable."

"Yes…yes, she did. I'm so very sorry for your loss, English. Does that bother you? That she told me, I mean?"

"No, of course not. You were bound to stumble upon that bit of family lore at some point or another. Best to have it out of the way, I suppose. It's not like we've had loads of time to divulge our personal histories to one another." I resist the urge to make a jab about the dossier I have on her since it is now crystal clear that her team has not provided her with a dossier on me or my family. Definitely, best not to bring that up this evening.

Bella nods, but doesn't comment further as we reach her door. I sense her discomfort. Then, she inhales deeply before saying, "Well, I do believe we had a very successful dry run, English. With any luck, we should be able to nail this gig, don't you think?"

She looks so exquisitely beautiful and uncharacteristically vulnerable as she looks up at me with eyes so deep and imploring that I can't help myself. I reach out and cup her chin and ever-so-gently, run the pad of my thumb along the line of her right cheekbone. "Yes, Beau…Bella, my parents are clearly so unwittingly smitten with you, and you played your part to perfection this evening. For one who claims to be an abysmal actress, you did extraordinarily well. I felt I was merely along for the ride…following your cues. If tonight is any indication, I imagine that we will find our footing quite effortlessly once we're in the field."

Before she can respond, I lean in so close that I am enveloped by her essence, and the scent of her is so overwhelming that I am tempted to ravish her on the spot. Reigning in my baser instincts, I steel myself from alienating her altogether by unforgivably accosting her. Yet, using every ounce of restraint I can muster, I place the gentlest of kisses upon her cheek.

I stand upright, and notice she appears stunned into immobility, so I lean in and follow my kiss to her cheek with a tender kiss to her forehead, before quipping, "I'll see you in the morning at headquarters, Mrs. Masen."

I can't help but smirk as I stalk off not giving her an opportunity to respond leaving her standing safely in the opened doorway of her flat. Let the games begin. I may very well enjoy this assignment more than most.

a/n -

**Okay, so I am deep in the throes of update guilt. This class I'm taking is kicking my ass so thoroughly that I am debating dropping it on a daily basis, because (let's be honest) I'd much rather be reading and writing fic, and otherwise spending time with all of you in my down time. At the moment, the jury is still out whether I'll stick it out for the entire semester. We'll see. However, as I promised last update I will update absolutely as frequently as I can manage. Deal? To clarify, I'm shooting for once a month at this point. We'll see how it goes. If I can manage it, I'll update more frequently. I'd love to do some outtakes/alternate povs for you for some of the contests out there, but there now seems to be a bias against this. As for updates, good news: a huge chunk of ch. 17 has been written for months and months and months. **

**This time, my initial reading was done by my beloved wuogkat, and full beta was completed by my fic Twin-soul distanttxdream. As ever, I adore my Oz posse which also includes: Kristi28, loveofescapism laurasfirsttime/noahevansmom, unconditionally, jenniferlyn. 215, MrsTheKing, jslack, and dihenydd. You are my girls, and I adore each and every one of you! Not to be forgotten ****myimm0rtal validates OLR on Twi'd. She's amazing! T-squared, Assassinella, and I would never make it into the field (or to your inboxes) without them. Make no mistake dear readers, the field is where the action is…and that is *finally* where we are headed!**

**My do-not-pass-GO, do-not-collect $200 fic rec for this update is called: Walking Out of the Still Life by Pbroken. This was recommended to me by a beloved reader, and I'm really enjoying it. I'm digging it. It's still in its infancy, but it shows great promise. Give it a whirl!**

**Oh, and my true confession is that while I'm trying to slog through horrible, awful, mind-numbing epidemiology reading/articles/lectures, I've been sneaking off to read the Misapprehension of Bella Swan by hunterhunting. Now, I know that I'm the last person in the known Twi-universe to read this fic, but in my defense, that's really only because I was under the same misapprehension as Miss Bella after spending my undergrad at a big hockey school! Still, I loved this fun romp. Surely, I am so late to the party on this one that it's complete, all wrapped-up, and I'm the only one in the fandom who hasn't read it!**

**Until soon, my pretties!**

**xoxo,**

**drs**


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